


grab bag fics

by nasa



Category: Avengers Assemble (Cartoon), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Insecurity, M/M, Misunderstandings, tags to be updated as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2019-06-02 23:49:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 162
Words: 175,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15144194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasa/pseuds/nasa
Summary: Assortment of drabbles/mini fics from my tumblr; each chapter is it's own story, and will have tags at the beginning with general trends/content.





	1. My Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve calls Tony 'my love' so much, that Tony starts calling himself 'your love'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, petnames; inspired by this post: https://blossomsinthemist.tumblr.com/post/174956649800/oreoprince-listen-my-love-is-literally-the

The first time Steve calls him that, Tony thinks he’s misheard.

It’s such an uncommon pet name, so - archaic.  _My love._ Torn straight from nineteenth century romance novels and movies about glittering vampires. But Steve just says it again, breathing it out like a sigh, as he presses a kiss to Tony’s jugular, and it doesn’t sound as stupid as Tony would have thought. It just sound kind of - nice.

 _My love._ Tony is Steve’s love. He had known that, of course, hadn’t needed him to say it to understand, but still it’s - reassuring. That confirmation.

And maybe Steve understands that, maybe he sees it on Tony’s face or maybe he feels it, the way Tony goes soft and eager under his palms, because he starts saying it more after that. All the time, really, until it surpasses ‘sweetheart’ as the most common endearment he uses to refer to Tony. It never fails to make Tony heat, something tight swirling in his chest, and it has pulled him up on more than a few bad days.

He does it enough that the team picks up on it. Natasha never reacts with more than a small smirk, and lord knows Thor and Bruce don’t care, but Clint gives them  _shit_ for it.

“Oooh, my  _love,”_ he mocks, swooning over into Natasha’s lap. “Whatever will I do without you?”

“Get off, Clint,” she says, and dumps him onto the kitchen floor.

“My love, why would you hurt me like this?” Clint groans.

Tony looks over at Steve. He’s blushing a bit, the backs of his ears red, but he doesn’t look too mortified.

So the next time Tony emerges from the workshop to find Steve and Nat in the kitchen, cooking dinner, he drags himself over to Steve so he can plaster himself over his back.

“Steve,” he mumbles into Steve’s shirt. “Your love needs coffee.”

Tony feels the rumble of a laugh in Steve’s chest. “Oh, he does, does he?”

“Yes,” Tony confirms. “He does.”

“Well, I better get right on that, then,” Steve says. “If it’s for  _my love.”_

“Damn straight,” Tony mumbles, and lets Steve manhandle him into a chair. He slumps down onto the table, but keeps his eyes open so he can watch Steve’s ass as he heads to the cabinet to pull out a mug.

“One mug only,” Steve warns, before pressing the cup into Tony’s hand. “We’re going to bed at a reasonable time tonight.”

“Sure, sugarplum,” Tony says, leaning into the steam rising from his mug. “God, I love you.”

“I hope you’re talking to me and not the coffee,” Steve says with a raised eyebrow.

“Well,” Tony hedges, and then is cut off by his own shriek as Steve digs his fingers into Tony’s sides. “Ah, ah, ah!” Tony sets the mug down on the counter so he can bat at Steve’s hands, but it’s useless; nobody can win a tickle fight against a super soldier. “Stop, stop, I give, you - I love you, ah,  _fuck -“_

Finally Steve ceases, but he stays curled around Tony, tucking his face into his neck and pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

“You’re a menace,” Tony grumbles. He can feel the curve of Steve’s smirk against his shoulder.

“Yeah, but you  _love me,”_  he murmurs.

Tony huffs, but doesn’t disagree.


	2. Banana Condom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve inhales a condom, and there are misunderstandings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> virgin!Steve, misunderstandings cause angst, happy ending; plot stolen from Grey's Anatomy

Two weeks before the wedding, Steve starts wheezing when he breathes.

It doesn’t make sense. One minute, he’s sparring with Natasha in the gym; the next, he’s getting up from being slammed to the ground and suddenly sounding like a kazoo.

It’s not an asthma attack, or anything like that, because he’s getting air into his lungs just fine. And it doesn’t sound quite the same, either; if anything, it sounds almost like there’s something caught in his throat.

“A condom, actually,” Bruce says, holding out the tweezers with a spit-slicked condom in front of Steve. The condom he had just pulled from Steve’s throat. What the heck.

But Steve quickly realizes that his confusion is not the only thing he should be focusing on, because behind Bruce, Tony’s face is going through a complicated series of emotions before finally settling on a careful blankness.

Because, despite the fact that Steve and Tony are getting married in a fortnight, they’ve never had sex. It’s not that Steve’s a prude - and God knows Tony isn’t - it’s just - well, his Ma had always said to wait for marriage, and it sort of feels like the thing to do. And Tony had been so incredible about it, just so understanding, never pressuring Steve or getting frustrated, even when they make out on the couch for hours and by the end of it they’re both painfully hard and had to excuse themselves to take cold showers in separate bathrooms.

So Steve and Tony have never used a condom together before. For all Tony knows, Steve’s never even touched one before. Which is probably why his temple is throbbing and his fingers are white-knuckled on the counter.

“Can you excuse us for a minute, Bruce?” Tony asks, voice tight.

Bruce frowns, glancing between Steve and Tony for a confused moment before he sets the condom down and complies. “I’ll be just outside if you need anything,” he says, shooting Steve one last perplexed glance before the workshop door seals behind him.

Steve doesn’t blame him. After all, he hadn’t wanted to advertise his celibacy, and Tony had agreed to keep it between them. Their teammates think they’ve been having sex for months. To them, this must just be a funny story, not what Tony must obviously see it as: evidence of Steve cheating.

“I’ll be in the guest room tonight,” Tony says, gaze averted from Steve. He squeezes the counter, once, then clenches his jaw and turns, starts heading for the door. Before he can get very far, though, Steve reaches out to snag him lightly around the wrist.

“Stop,” Steve begs. “Please, just let me explain.”

Tony rips his arm out of Steve’s grip. “I don’t want to hear it, Steve,” he snaps.

At first glance, he just seems angry. Furrowed brow, set jaw, that darkness in his eyes. But to people who know him - and Steve does know him - there’s hurt in there, too.

“Natasha made me go to a bachelor party a couple days ago,” Steve blurts. It doesn’t make Tony’s expression soften, but it does bring an edge of confusion to his eyes. “They were - they were doing this, this thing, where you -“ Steve swallows hard, praying that his Irish complexion isn’t giving away his embarrassment as much as he thinks it is. “You put a condom on a banana. With your mouth.”

Tony raises his eyebrow, an almost incredulous expression coming across his face. “And, you, what, inhaled it?”

“I thought I swallowed it,” Steve says miserably. “Because I could breathe just fine, but I guess it must have gone down the wrong pipe - Tony?”

Because Tony’s not looking at him, anymore. Instead, he’s turned away, bent over at the waist, his hand pressed to his mouth. His shoulders are shaking. “Tony, are you -“

Tony turns, dropping his hand, and bursts into laughter anew at the expression on Steve’s face. “You - inhaled a - banana - condom?” he manages around giggles, and while Steve’s glad he’s not upset anymore, that doesn’t make it any less embarrassing.

“Tony,” Steve groans, raising a hand to pinch his nose. Exasperation can cover embarrassment, right?

“I’m sorry, honey,” Tony says, and even though he’s laughing at Steve, the way he says that - honey - makes something anxious settle in Steve’s chest. “I just - only you. This would only happen to you.”

“I’m sure it’s happened to other people before,” Steve mutters, looking down at his feet. A moment later, Tony settles his hand feather-light on Steve’s jaw, tipping up his jaw so they’re eye to eye.

“I’m sorry,” he says, an edge of serious coming into his voice. “I shouldn’t’ve jumped to conclusions.”

“To be fair, that was a pretty logical conclusion to jump to,” Steve admits, but Tony just shakes his head.

“Not with you,” he murmurs. “Never with you.”

Finally sure that his touch isn’t unwelcome, Steve reaches forward to settle his hands on Tony’s waist, tugging him a forward a bit until they’re chest to chest. “I would never cheat on you, Tony,” Steve says. “I promise you that.”

“I know,” Tony says, tangling his fingers in the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck. “Ditto.”

Steve snorts. “Wow,” he says. “Way to ruin a romantic moment.”

“Not quite as bad as coughing up a condom,” Tony points out, and Steve groans, knocking their foreheads together.

“I just wanted our wedding night to be good for you, baby,” he says. “I know you - you have a lot of experience, and that’s not a bad thing, of course, it just - it puts the bar pretty high for me, you know.”

“Our wedding night is going to be spectacular,” Tony says. “I have no doubt it’s going to be the best sex I’ve ever had. No - wait, let me finish,” when Steve opens his mouth to argue. “Yeah, I’ve had a lot of sex in my life. But I’ve never had sex with someone I loved, not someone I love like you. You - even if all we do on our wedding night is heavy-petting and jerking each other off through our tuxes, I’ll be happy, because it’ll have been with you.”

“We’re not going to jerk off in our tuxes, Tony,” Steve chastises. “Those are expensive.”

Tony rolls his eyes, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Steve’s lips. “You get my point.”

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs. “But it’s not going to be - I am going to try to be good for you, Tony.”

Tony rubs his thumb across Steve’s cheek, expression softening to display the sort of vulnerability only Steve gets to see. “You already are.”


	3. Welcome Home, Dodger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets Steve a present for his 100th birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> established relationship; fluff; birthday fic

“Don’t be mad,” Tony says.

Steve sighs and closes his eyes. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” Tony protests immediately. “Well, something - but nothing bad? I think? I hope, at least.”

Steve sticks a bookmark in his paperback and sets it aside, rising from his chair to turn to face Tony. He’s hovering in the doorway with an unnaturally uncertain expression, one he hasn’t worn around Steve since long before they got married, excepting those situations where, like a child with their hand in the cookie jar, he knows he’s fucked up and is waiting for the consequences.

“Did you make Bruce hulk out again?” Steve asks. “Is there property damage somewhere? Oh - did you try to make some special fireworks for my birthday and blow up the lab?”

“Nooo,” Tony says slowly. Steve raises an eyebrow, and Tony admits, “Okay, fine, maybe a little bit, but that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Steve’s eyebrow shoots up. “It’s worse than a blown up lab?” he asks incredulously.

“No! First of all, the lab is _not_ blown up, just a little singed, it’s fine, I’ve been wanting to redecorate anyway, and second of all, it is _not_ worse - it’s not bad at all! Fuck, I knew I shouldn’t’ve led with this.” Tony huffs, reaching forward to snag Steve by the wrist and tug him forward. “Show, not tell. Come with me.”

Steve trots along after him obediently, not even really considering resisting. Tony leads him down the hallway of their quarters, to the elevator, then presses the button for the communal floor.

“Is it something with the armor?” Steve guesses. “Or my suit? Did you fuck with my motorcycle? Did you steal my shield again?”

“Stop guessing, you’re denting my ego,” Tony says. “It’s good! I promise.”

“Then why is your voice cracking?” Steve asks.

Tony doesn’t get a chance to respond before the elevator doors ding and they’re arriving on the communal floor. No sooner has Steve stepped out then something barrels into his legs, something furry and enthusiastic and -

“Oh, hey there, boy, calm down,” Steve says, as the dog leaps up and around him standing on it’s hind legs so it can bat at his shoulders. “Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, boy.” He drops to his knees so he can pet the dog more thoroughly, but it just makes him more enthusiastic, bouncing around Steve in circles as he licks at every available patch of his skin.

“Whose dog is this?” Steve asks after a moment, laughing as the dog trips over Steve’s legs while trying to circle him. He’s adorable, really - he’s got a glossy brown coat, and a strong little body, paws far too big for his legs. A puppy, definitely, maybe a year old, and probably a mutt, though it’s not a mix Steve is familiar with - probably a rescue.

“Yours,” Tony says from behind him. “If you want him.”

Steve’s hands still on the dog’s fur, and he turns to Tony. “What?” he asks, hope dawning in his chest. “Tony?”

“You talk about getting a dog all the time, honey,” Tony says, a warm fondness in his eyes. “Did you think I wasn’t listening?”

“Of course not, but -“ Steve turns back to the puppy, which is trying to lap at his neck. Dimly, he realizes that behind it the rest of the Avengers are standing and watching, Clint with a cameraphone trained in his hand. _Good,_ Steve thinks. _I’ll want to remember this._

“As of today, you are officially a centenarian,” Tony says. “That deserves a big present.”

Steve laughs, unable to keep his bubbling joy contained any longer. “He’s incredible,” Steve says honestly, scratching at him behind the ears as he pants, tail waggling like he can’t contain his joy. “Yeah, yeah you are, boy, you’re incredible, aren’t you? Such a good boy. And do you have a name?”

“Well, you can rename him if you want,” Tony starts, “But the shelter, they were calling him Dodger.”

“Dodger?” Steve laughs. “Seriously?”

His and Tony’s first date had been to a Dodgers game. Steve had spent the whole time yelling at the umpire, while beside him, Tony munched on nachos and sipped a coke that cost more money than Steve was used to carrying around with him.

Tony beams at him, a contented, self-satisfied little smile Steve doesn’t get to see on him nearly as often as he’d like. “I know, right? It’s like fate.”

Dodger, apparently done with being ignored, pounces. He’s not that heavy, but he takes Steve by surprise, and he topples backwards. Dodger takes the opportunity to climb on top of him, licking at his neck and chin and only narrowly missing stepping on some of Steve’s more sensitive areas.

“I think he likes you, Cap,” Clint pipes up, and Steve laughs as the pup bounces all around his head, like he’s some sort of trampoline.

“He’s perfect,” he says, meeting Tony’s eyes behind the pile of fur. “Thank you, Tony.”

Tony just smiles. “Happy Birthday, Steve,” he says softly.

Steve closes his eyes and lets the dog slobber all over him.


	4. Relationship Material

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Steve kisses him, Tony freezes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get together; hurt/comfort

When Steve kisses him, Tony freezes.

He’d like to say that wasn’t the case - that when his long-time crush suddenly leaned over and planted one on him, halfway through a bout of laughter about something or another that was coming out of Tony’s mouth - he had found the mind to reciprocate. It’s not like it was likely to happen again, after all, so Tony could at least take this.

But in all honestly, all he could think was,  _wait, what?_ Steve’s hands were on his shoulders and his knees were pressed against Tony’s, and he was kissing him, mouth warm and slick against Tony’s own. And Tony wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t dreaming.

After a moment or two of Tony reeling, Steve finally pulls back, the smile on his face faltering at Tony’s expression. “Tony?” he asks. Tony doesn’t reply, just blinks at him, trying his hardest to make sense of this in his head. Steve - kissed him?

“Oh, damn,” Steve says, in this sad little voice Tony hates to hear from him, “I’m sorry, Tony, I - I shouldn’t’ve done that.”

Of course he shouldn’t’ve done that, Tony thinks, it’s me, but why the hell does that not seem to be the problem?

“Steve -“ Tony starts, then stops himself, the hammering of his heart making it hard to breathe, like it really has risen from his chest and into his throat. He wants to ask if Steve’s really interested in this, if he actually  _likes_ Tony, but he’s too much of a coward. Besides, he knows what Steve will say. Of course he doesn’t like Tony. He just wanted to see what it felt like, maybe, or maybe he forgot himself and thought he was someone else entirely, but not - surely he’s not interested in Tony.

Because nobody’s really interested in Tony. He’s not saying he’s Satan, nothing like that - and, besides, Satan’s probably got friends in the underworld - but he’s not - he’s not the kind of person you want to be in a relationship with. He’s weird and sarcastic and unconventional, and sure, he cleans up nice but half the time he walks around in greasy tank tops with holes cut out to display a glowing pacemaker. And, sure, that makes him an interesting sort of guy, but the sort of interesting you want to be friends with, not date. He’s not - dating material.

“I really am sorry, Tony,” Steve says, when Tony doesn’t continue. “I know - I know you don’t feel that way, I’m sorry, I just got - caught up in the moment -“

And Tony can see why, really. The kitchen is empty aside from them, and the sun is setting outside the window, casting orange triangles on Steve’s face. It looked better before, before he was wearing that pinched expression, but it still makes him look gorgeous. He’s always gorgeous, but this especially feels very much like a rom-com moment. It’d be easy to get confused.

“It’s fine,” Tony hears himself say, pushing back his chair so he can stand. Abruptly, he wants nothing more than for this moment to end, so he can forget the look on Steve’s face and the way he’d felt under Tony’s lips. God,  _god_ is it hard to get over a crush when the person is your best friend. “You don’t have to - I know you’re not - interested in me that way,” and Tony voice grows tight and he chokes out a laugh to cover it. “I understand, I’m not really - it’s fine, anyway, don’t -“

“You’re not really what, Tony?” Steve interrupts, voice soft.

Tony shakes his head, presses his eyes shut. “Nothing, it doesn’t matter, I’m going down to the lab, I’ll see you later -“

But Steve grabs his wrist as he turns to go. It’s gentle; Tony could break free if he wanted to. He can’t decide if he wants to.

“You’re not what, Tony?” Steve asks again.

Tony swallows hard, hating that Steve’s making him articulate this, hating that he can’t choose not to. “I’m not really relationship material,” he says. Steve’s hand tightens on his wrist, just slightly, and he hurries to add, “You know, I’m - I’m snappy and arrogant and - unconventional and that’s, you know, fine for a friend but it’s not really something anyone wants to - Steve?”

Because Steve has risen to his feet, come around Tony so he’s standing in front of him. “Tony,” Steve says, with a strange note in his voice Tony’s never heard before, as he brings his hands up to frame Tony’s cheeks. Tony’s breath catches in his throat and he can’t help but watch Steve’s lips, the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. “I’ve had a crush on you for months. A romantic crush, a relationship crush, and I - I can’t believe you -“ Steve cuts himself off, swallows hard. “You’re an incredible person, Tony. Not just as a friend, but a partner. Anyone would be lucky to date you, myself included. Okay?”

Tony blinks at him, trying to spot the deception, but it’s just Steve, earnest and bright-eyed and as stubborn as usual. “Okay,” Tony says softly, and then, before he looses the nerve, raises a hand to cup Steve’s jaw. He rubs a thumb over Steve’s cheekbone, watches as his eyes flutter shut.

“Tony,” Steve says hoarsely.

“Kiss me,” Tony instructs, and to his great relief, Steve does. This time, Tony kisses back, focusing on the warmth of Steve under his palms and around his shoulders, enveloping him like a hot bath.

They finally break for air. Steve leans their foreheads together, breath huffing against Tony’s chin. “You’re - incredible,” Steve says.

Tony closes his eyes and breathes, and doesn’t reply.


	5. Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s my Ma’s birthday,” Steve says, voice cracking. He presses his eyes shut against suddenly welling tears, “So.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hurt/comfort, grief, established relationship

“Steve?”

Tony’s voice is soft, uncharacteristically quiet in the still room. “Hey, Tony,” Steve says. His voice is heavy and flat. Behind him, he hears the soft patter of Tony’s approaching footsteps.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

Steve rolls the question around in his mind, trying to think of a way to answer. “Bad day,” he says finally. “Just - very bad day.”

“I’m sorry, honey,” Tony says, finally coming around the bed so he can settle down beside Steve. He rests a hand lightly on top of Steve’s head, tangling his fingers like snakes through Steve’s curls. “Is it anything I can help with?”

Steve looks down at his hands. They’re callused, but unlined; he has no scars, or cuts, or bruises. When he was younger, he had bony, rough hands, that grew red like hot coals in the cold. His mother’s hands. Now, his hands, like the rest of him, have grown up and moved on and left her behind. How many pieces of her can he lose and still be his mother’s son?

“It’s my Ma’s birthday,” Steve says, voice cracking. He presses his eyes shut against suddenly welling tears, “So.”

For a long moment, Tony is silent. Steve waits for him the respond, trying to imagine what Tony might say. He hopes it’s not  _I’m sorry._ Steve hates it when people say that, because it always ends up with him reassuring them -  _it’ll be fine, I’ll be okay,_ instead of what he’s really feeling, which is  _I don’t know what’s going to happen now,_ and  _I don’t know if there’s a way through this._

“What was your mom’s favorite food?”

 _That_ certainly wasn’t on the list of questions Steve was imagining, and it makes him open his eyes, turn to Tony. He’s wearing a now-oil-stained t-shirt of Steve’s, and his forehead is crinkled. “What?” Steve manages after a moment.

“Every year, on my mom’s birthday, I make her favorite food. It was carbonara - my favorite food too, incidentally, so maybe I’m just spoiling myself, but. I use her recipe, and I make enough to share, and if there are people around, I feed everyone.”

Tony pauses, his touch light and nimble as he runs his fingers through Steve’s hair. “So,” he asks again, after a moment, “What was your mom’s favorite food?”

“Shepherd’s pie,” Steve says, voice hoarse. “She made it all the time. She preferred it with beef, but we usually couldn’t afford that, so it’d just be carrots and peas and potatoes. She put cabbage in the crust, like colcannon.”

“That sounds delicious,” Tony says. His hand drops from Steve’s hair, settles on Steve’s lap. “Want to go make some?”

Steve tangles his fingers in Tony’s. Tony’s hands are tan where his mother’s were fair, thick and strong where his mother’s were small and delicate. But they’re rough and scarred just like hers, cracked around the edges, with pitted nails and scabs and wrinkles. Steve lifts Tony’s hand to his mouth, presses a kiss to the center of his palm.

“Yeah,” he says. “Let’s go make dinner.”


	6. Tony Likes Big Butts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I like - big - butts and I cannot lie! You other brothers can’t deny, when a girl walks in with a -“
> 
> “Should I be offended?” Steve asks dryly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> minor insecurities, fluff, crack

“I like - big - butts and I cannot lie! You other brothers can’t deny, when a girl walks in with a -“

“Should I be offended?” Steve asks dryly.

Tony whirls around, throwing his hands up when he sees Steve. “Stevie!!”

Steve raises an eyebrow, plucking the wooden spoon from Tony’s hand. “You shouldn’t use kitchen utensils as paddles, Tony.”

Sam, who only seconds before had been obligingly bending over as Tony whacked him on the ass with a kitchen utensil, crosses his arms and nods along with Steve. “We have rules, Tony,” he says, and dodges as Tony smacks at his head.

“Ass,” Tony mumbles, turning back to the pot simmering on the stove. He picks up a clean spoon and sniffs at its contents. Apparently deeming it satisfactory, he clicks off the burner and pulls the pot away from the heat, moving to grab bowls from the cabinets.

“That’s right, I’m an ass,” Sam says, settling down on a kitchen stool. “Falcon Big Butt, that’s me. The sidekick of Captain Little Ass.”

Tony snorts. He turns to Steve, holding out a steaming bowl of Kraft mac and cheese, but pauses when he sees Steve’s expression. “Sweetheart?”

Steve quickly tries to school the jealousy he knows is twisting his expression, but it’s too late. Something like delight is dawning on Tony’s face, and he sets the bowl down on the counter with a clatter. “ _Steve,”_ he says, with the air of a child who just discovered that men have been to the moon, “Are you jealous?”

“Of course I’m not,” Steve grumbles, reaching across the counter to snatch up his bowl. “That’s ridiculous.”

“You are,” Tony says, sounding awed. “I had wondered if it would ever happen. What could possibly make Steve Rogers feel insecure?”

“Stop it,” Steve whines.

“But this is it,” Tony continues as if he hadn’t spoken. “Big butts. Steve Rogers, Captain America, literal human perfection, is insecure about his ass.”

“Shut  _up,”_ Steve groans, shoveling a forkful of too-hot pasta into his mouth. It burns his tongue; the serum heals it before he can take the next bite.

“Oh, look at him, he’s  _scarlet,”_ Sam says. “Oh, man.”

“You guys are - are -“

“What?” Tony asks. “Owners of smoking hot asses?”

“Mean,” Steve grumbles, stuffing more food into his mouth. “Mean - meanies.”

“Oh,  _wow,”_ Sam laughs. “Okay, I’m gonna go try to convince Nat to go out to dinner with me, let you stoke Cap’s ego. We still on for sparring tomorrow morning?”

Sam waits for Steve’s nods before slipping out the door. Steve hears him calling for JARVIS, and then the arrival of the elevator.

It’s not until the elevator doors slide closed that Tony finally settles in beside Steve with his own bowl of mac and cheese. “Your ass is fantastic,” Tony says casually, like he’s discussing upgrades to the Iron Man armor. “You know that, right?”

“Shut up,” Steve mumbles, wishing his red cheeks weren’t giving him away like he knows they must be.

“Steve,” Tony says, tone softening. “Hey.” He sets down his food, turning towards Steve and settling his hands on Steve’s thighs. “Baby. How many times have I eaten you out?”

“ _Tony -“_ Steve groans.

“All of those times, was there ever a moment I looked like I was having anything less than the time of my life?”

“No,” Steve admits, poking around his bowl.

“No,” Tony agrees. “You know why? Because your ass is  _fantastic._ Captain Fantastic Ass, that should be your name.”

“Tony,” Steve says, laughing despite himself.

“No? Not feeling it? Captain Thicc, maybe? Captain Bubble Butt, you could steal Sam’s name -“

“Shut up,” Steve says again, but he’s chuckling, and he leans over to kiss Tony when it looks like he’s preparing another bout of names. “Okay,” he murmurs when he pulls away. “I get it.”

“You gotta say it,” Tony says. “Come on, let me hear you. Your name is -“

“Captain Fantastic Ass,” Steve says.

“Damn right it is,” Tony murmurs against his lips. One of his hands slips down, grabs a fistful of Steve’s ass, and Steve startles, knocking over his mac and cheese. It goes spilling all over the floor, splattering the cabinets with melted goo.

“You better clean that up,” Tony says. He’s got a wicked smile on his face, so Steve’s expecting it when he adds, “Turn away and bend over, so I can see your butt.”

Steve laughs, but he does as he’s told.


	7. Early Mornings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been torture, getting up this morning. JARVIS had woken him, and Tony had groaned and rolled over, tucking his face into Steve’s chest. “I don’t wanna go,” he’d mumbled, and Steve had sighed in his sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff; established relationship

It’s early - not even seven in the morning, the sun rising slow outside the window, casting the clouds in shades of purple and blue. Tony pours himself a mug of coffee and thinks ruefully that he hasn’t seen this side of seven a.m. for months, but he’s got a business trip to Japan that he really can’t afford to miss, so here he is.

It had been torture, getting up this morning. JARVIS had woken him, and Tony had groaned and rolled over, tucking his face into Steve’s chest. “I don’t wanna go,” he’d mumbled, and Steve had sighed in his sleep.

Tony pushes himself up onto the counter and sighs, bringing his coffee mug to his lips. It’s going to be a long two weeks without Steve - they haven’t been apart for this long in months, not since Steve’s last undercover mission, and even that sucked.

Someone makes a noise behind Tony and Tony turns to see Steve stumbling into the kitchen, bleary eyed and sleep-mussed. He’s not nearly as much of a morning person as one would expect Captain America to be; it’s something Tony loves about him, one little thing he gets to know that other people don’t.

“Morning,” Tony says, and Steve mumbles out a response, making a beeline for Tony. Steve slots himself between Tony’s legs, bringing his arms up around Tony’s waist, letting his head drop to Tony’s shoulder. Tony sets down his coffee and brings up his hands to rub slow circles on Steve’s back.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Tony asks, and Steve hums into his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

“Tired,” he says. “’s early.”

“You should go back to bed,” Tony says without relinquishing his grip on Steve. “There’s nowhere you gotta be today, right?”

“Japan,” Steve says, and Tony laughs, tangling the fingers of one hand in the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck.

“You must be more tired than I thought,” he says. “That’s me, not you.”

“‘m going, too,” Steve says, finally managing to push himself back enough to look Tony in the eye. He does look very tired, but when he smiles at Tony, it’s bright. “I arranged it with Pepper, not that it really took much arranging.”

“Honey,” Tony says, a smile curling on the edge of his lips. “You don’t have to.”

Steve shrugs, nestles himself back in to Tony’s shoulder. “I wanted to. Besides, I’ve never been to Japan. It’ll be fun.”

“I’ll be in business meetings all day,” Tony warns.

“I can do things by myself, you know,” Steve comments, smiling. “And Pepper planned it so none of the meetings go past five. Even giving an hour for spillover, that leaves us all evening to spend time together.”

“Sushi,” Tony says, “Ramen, Ginza - oh, we can go to the fish market! You’ll love it, it’s so lively and the food there is just  _incredible -“_

Steve smiles, nestling back into Tony’s shoulder. “Whatever you want to do, sweetheart. I’m sure I’ll love it.”

Tony raises a hand to thread through Steve’s hair, scratching his fingers lightly against his scalp. “I’m so glad you married me,” he all but whispers.

He feels the curve of Steve’s smile against his neck. “Me too,” Steve says.

For a long moment, they just stay like that, breathing each other in as Steve starts to doze off on Tony’s shoulder.

The moment is broken by JARIVS. “Excuse me, Sirs, but you’ll need to leave for the airport within the next five minutes in order to make your scheduled flight time.”

Steve sighs against Tony’s neck and starts to pull back, much to Tony’s consternation.

“Ignore him,” he says, tightening his grip on Steve’s shoulders. “It’s a private plane, it’s not like it’s going to leave without us.”

“It’s important to be punctual, Tony,” Steve chastises, even as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. “I’ll go get our bags. Grab me a snack, will you?”

Tony leans forward to press a quick kiss to Steve’s lips before finally releasing him. “You got it, Sunshine,” he says, and is rewarded with Steve’s smile as he heads towards their room.

Tony twists his wedding ring around his finger, grinning. Today is going to be much better than he expected.


	8. Avoidance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay,” Steve says finally, “What did you do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship

“Okay,” Steve says finally, “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” Tony says. He hears the weird pitch in his voice and knows Steve can hear it too. At least there’s no one else around - the kitchen is empty aside from the two of them, Steve probably coming up to make dinner, while Tony lounges about eating Twix and messing with armor schematics. “Why do you assume I did something?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “You’ve been avoiding me all day.”

“No I haven’t,” Tony blusters.

“Then what do you call running in the opposite direction whenever you see me coming?”

Tony looks down at his feet, shifty. “Cardio,” he mumbles.

It startles a laugh out of Steve, and he moves forward, laying a hand on Tony’s arm. “Come on, honey,” he says, “just tell me. You know I’m going to get it out of you eventually.”

“Fine,” Tony sighs, even as his mind whirls. “The truth is, I, uh - cheated on you.”

Steve just rolls his eyes. “Sure,” he says, “And I’m a Martian. Seriously, what did you do?”

 ****“I cheated on you,” Tony insists. “Come on, why don’t you believe me? I fucked a pink-haired twink in the closet of a gay club.”

Steve’s laughing now. “Tony,” he says, reeling him in with a hand on his waist. “Come on.”

“What, you don’t think I could get a pink-haired twink to fuck me?”

“I  _think -“_ Steve says, “That you are many things. But unfaithful is not one of them.”

Tony sighs, softening into Steve’s grip despite himself. “You’re evil.”

Steve hums. “Sure,” he says. “Now spill.”

Tony twists his fingers in Steve’s shirt, avoiding looking him in the eye. “I may have, uh - may have blown a couple things up.”

“Oh?” Steve says, voice deceptively light. “What kind of things?”

“Erm,” Tony says. “A Quinjet?”

“A -  _Tony.”_

“I know! Believe me, I know, it was an accident, okay, I wasn’t  _meaning_ to blow it up -“

“Well, I hope not,” Steve says. “I’d hate to be married to an arsonist.”

His tone sounds almost - fond? Tony glances up tentatively and is surprised to find Steve grinning down at him in a helpless sort of way. “What?” Tony asks.

“It’s just -“ Steve shakes his head, raising his hand to cup Tony’s jaw. “Only you would think lying about cheating on me would be a good way out of telling me you blew up the Quintet.”

“I didn’t have much time to think,” Tony protests half-heartedly.

“Yeah, and as a genius, that’s a real problem for you,” Steve teases.

“Well, you know me,” Tony says, slipping a hand up under the hem of Steve’s shirt to settle on his side. His skin is warm; Tony can feel his heartbeat thudding under his fingers. “My brain always slows down when you’re nearby.”

“Oh, is that so?” Steve breathes. They’ve migrated closer together; Tony can count the minute wrinkles around Steve’s eyes from this distance. “You know, sweet talk doesn’t get you out of trouble, mister.”

“Oh, I know,” Tony smirks. “I’d be disappointed if it did. I’m rather looking forward to the punishment, to be honest.”

Steve rolls his eyes, leaning back. “You’re ridiculous,” he says.

“Especially in the sheets,” Tony winks.

Steve groans, but follows along when Tony tugs him towards their bedroom.


	9. A Long-Delayed Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By the time they hit their first anniversary, Steve had known that this was the man he wanted to marry.
> 
> He also knew that Tony was more - flighty than Steve. Not in a bad way - he’s loyal, almost to a fault - but commitment scared him. Steve didn’t want to push him into marriage before he was ready. Besides, they’d only been dating a year - by modern standards, that’s relatively short to be popping the question. Steve decided to wait.
> 
> And wait. And wait. And wait.
> 
> He can only hope it hasn't been too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff; angst w/ happy ending; proposal; established relationship

When Steve was younger, he always dreamed of getting married.

Not specifically about the wedding or the honeymoon, the way he’s told girls sometimes do. Just the general idea of it. Having a partner to go through life with; the comfortable ease and domesticity happy couples seemed to have. Steve had always had Bucky, sure, but he was still a lonely boy, and the romance of someone accepting you for all your flaws and being there through everything - of course he was drawn to it.

But the romance of the idea waned over time. Steve grew up, and started dating, and he realized that no relationship was quite that cotton-candy perfect; everyone demands compromise. Sure, he still wanted a long-term, stable partnership, but he was no longer under the illusion it would be something he felt he fit into perfectly. It would be work.

It wasn’t until Steve started dating Tony that he found someone that was worth it. Tony is everything Steve could have dreamed of in a partner - kind, funny, intelligent - and a few other things he never would have thought to ask for. By the time they hit their first anniversary, Steve had known that this was the man he wanted to marry.

He also knew that Tony was more - flighty than Steve. Not in a bad way - he’s loyal, almost to a fault - but commitment scared him. Steve didn’t want to push him into marriage before he was ready. Besides, they’d only been dating a year - by modern standards, that’s relatively short to be popping the question. Steve decided to wait. ****

But one year bled into two, into three, into four, and still, neither of them proposed. Steve had almost done it a half a million times - hell, he’d bought a ring years ago - but he always managed to talk himself out of it. Surely if Tony wanted to get married, he would have proposed? Steve’s never made it a secret that he plans to spend the rest of his life with Tony, and as happy as Tony always gets when Steve says that, never once has he brought up the accompanying marriage talk.

By the time their sixth anniversary rolls around, Steve’s resigned himself to remaining Captain Rogers for life. Not that there’s anything wrong with that - sure, he would like to add the  _Stark_ at the end of his name, but a little thing like that isn’t worth making Tony uncomfortable.

That is, until he comes home early from SHIELD and catches the tail end of a conversation between Tony and Rhodey.

He’s headed to the kitchen, intending to grab a snack before heading down to the workshop to find Tony, when he hears the voices floating out from down the hall. He doesn’t like to eavesdrop, but he can’t help it; his super enhanced hearing latches on before he can consciously choose to stop paying attention.

“- just doesn’t want to marry me, Rhodey.”

And  _that’s_ what catches Steve’s attention. Normally by now he would have walked away, stopped eavesdropping on whatever argument Tony’s having with Rhodey about armor upgrades, but this?  _He doesn’t want to marry me, Rhodey._ Surely Tony can’t mean -

“That’s bullshit and you know it, Tones. The guy’s head over heels for you - hell, you’ve been dating for  _six years._ Do you think he’s really gonna leave you now?”

 _Thank god for Rhodey,_ Steve thinks, even as Tony starts to protest.

“But that’s the point, Rhodey. It’s been six years and he still hasn’t proposed.”

“Well, maybe you should propose to  _him,_ dipshit.”

“No. I can’t pressure him into it. Knowing Steve, he’d say yes just to be nice, and then he’d be miserable. No, I’m not saying anything.”

Steve mind is reeling. Tony really wants to marry him? But Steve had thought -

Oh, god. Oh,  _god._ Suddenly it hits Steve all at once - what a horrible misunderstanding this has been. Knowing Tony, he’s been feeling at least twice as rejected as Steve has - heck, maybe he thinks Steve isn’t serious about him. About them.

He hurries to his room before Tony can see him, then calls Bucky.

“I fucked up,” he says in lieu of a greeting.

“Oh boy,” Bucky says. “Stark?”

“He thought I didn’t want to marry him, Buck.”

There phone crackles as Bucky sighs. “Well,” he says, “I guess you’ll just have to prove him wrong.”

-

Steve asks Tony out to dinner two days later.

“Someplace you wanted to try?” Tony asks.

Steve shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “We just haven’t had a date in a while. I’ve missed you.”

Steve watches the way Tony softens. “Okay,” he says quietly, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Steve’s lips. “Six?”

Steve shows up at the workshop at six o’clock on the dot, only to find Tony covered in grime and arguing with Jarvis about something on the newest amor schematics.

“Shit,” he says, startling when he sees Steve. “Dinner.”

He washes up and changes quickly, and when he returns downstairs twenty minutes later, he’s looking incredible - dark, tight jeans, a loose red button-up, and a vintage watch Steve gave Tony two Christmases ago.

Tony tells Steve about the updates he’s making to everyone’s gear on the ride over. They park a few blocks from the restaurant and walk the rest of the way. They’re almost to the door when Tony pauses, finally registering where we’re going.

“Mamma Satto’s?” he asks with a smile. “Feeling sentimental?”

Mamma Satto’s is where they went for their first date; Steve had said he’d never tried sushi before, and Tony had insisted that he had to try it, right now, this exact minute, grab your coat. They’d spent hours talking over rainbow rolls and tuna sashimi; it was the best date Steve had ever had.

“Something like that,” Steve agrees, and leads him to their booth with a hand on the small of his back.

Steve lasts almost the whole dinner without proposing. He finds himself surprisingly nervous; he knows he wants this, and more than that, he knows  _Tony_ wants this, so he wasn’t expecting this - anxiety. Tony won’t say no - except what if he does?

Tony finally puts a stop to it, leaning over the table to rest his hand over Steve’s where his fingers were drumming on the table. “Are you okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” Steve says.

“You seem -“

“I love you, Tony,” Steve interrupts, before he looses the nerve. “More than anyone or anything in the world. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to - to come home, when we’re old and grey and wrinkled, and have you to sit next to on the couch and watch outdated sci-fi and eat your weird German candies and - and love you. I want to love you for the rest of my life.”

“Steve -“ Tony interrupts, sounding choked.

“Tony,” Steve barrels on, finally pulling the small black velvet box from his pocket. He pops the lid, offers it towards Tony. “Will you marry me?”

For a moment, Tony just stares at him, gaping like a fish.

“Yes,” he finally manages, “Oh, my god, Steve,  _yes -“_

Steve pulls the ring out of the box with fumbling fingers and manages to get it onto Tony’s finger. It’s gold, simple and classic for Steve, Iron Man colors for Tony. Compromise.

“I love you,” Tony says, squeezing Steve’s hand in his. “I didn’t know you -“

“I was waiting for you to propose,” Steve admits, to Tony’s wet laughter. “I guess we got our signals crossed somewhere.”

Tony just shakes his head, leaning forward to kiss Steve over the table. “I love you,” he says again, this time against Steve’s lips.

“I love you,” Steve murmurs back.

The waiter seems to decide this is the exact moment to show up, a plate of mochi in hand. “On the house,” he says, grinning. There’s a chocolate drizzle in the shape of a circle, and at the top, the mocha rests; almost like a ring.

Tony laughs and, beaming, Steve reaches out to shake the waiter’s hand. “Thank you, sir,” he says, and the waiter pats him on the shoulder. “Congratulations.”

“Should we split it?” Tony asks, once the waiter has gone, gesturing to the ice cream.

“Well, what’s yours is mine, after all,” Steve says.

Tony beams. “You’re right,” he agrees, then tugs the whole plate to his side of the table, stuffing half the mochi into his mouth in one go. “I’ll just have all of it, then.”

Steve laughs and squeezes Tony’s hand over the table. Already he can tell this is the best decision he’s ever made.


	10. Chinese New Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though Steve hadn’t known it before they started dating, Tony had spent a fair amount of time in China. When he told Steve the story of his first Chinese spring festival and the enthusiastic translator who’d made it possible, Steve couldn’t help but want to experience it himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff; established relationship

“You know, when you said it would be busy, I didn’t think you meant  _this_ busy.”

Nanjing Road is completely packed with celebrators, who are pressed wall to wall between the towering buildings overhead. Many of them are dressed in red, and quite a few have various flags and lanterns and streamers hanging over their shoulders. Vendors shout from storefronts and from little carts they’ve managed to jam into the crowd, selling roasted meat and little round dumplings on sticks.

“It’s Shanghai on Chinese New Year,” Tony replies, shouting to be heard over the din of the crowd. “It’s part of the experience!”

Tony had been all about giving Steve the full Chinese experience. Though Steve hadn’t known it at first, Tony had actually spent a fair amount of time in China. When StarkIndustries shifted their focus from weapons to clean energy and electronics, they’d expanded internationally. 2008 marked the beginning of US companies rush to get into China, and of course Stark Industries was one of them. Over the course of the four years before Tony met the Avengers, he’d spent weeks here on business trips, exploring different cities in the country and different holidays like Chinese New Year. Once he told Steve the story of his first Chinese spring festival and the enthusiastic translator who’d made it possible, Steve couldn’t help but want to experience it himself.

“How much farther?” he shouts at Tony. They’re wearing sunglasses to disguise their faces, but Steve can’t decide if they’re useless or not. He’s certainly receiving quite a few double takes, but he thinks that’s maybe more because he’s a tall, pale blonde guy in a sea of native Chinese citizens rather than anyone actually recognizing him.

“Just a couple more blocks,” Tony yells back, tugging at Steve’s hand. “If we can get through.”

Tony wants to get them to the riverfront for the fireworks show at midnight. He’d taken Steve to a dumpling restaurant for dinner, where they ate Shanghai’s famous  _xiaolongbao,_ or soup dumplings, as well as a bowl of the longest noodles Steve had ever had in his life. Then they’d hopped on the subway - “No car’s going to make it through this,” Tony had said, with a gesture at the packed streets - and headed over to Nanjing Square. Tony had said it was less than a half a mile from the river, so Steve had thought it’d be a leisurely walk to see the fireworks. He hadn’t expected  _this._

“Want hats?”

It takes Steve a moment to realize the man is talking to him; he’s one of the few people in the crowd not holding some sort of flag, and he’s got a basket in his hands. In it are bunch of plastic headbands with plastic glowing tops: some crowns, some Mouse ears, a few bows.

“Steve?” Tony asks, when Steve doesn’t continue. “What’s wrong?”

But Steve’s spotted something at the bottom of the bin, something red and blue and glowing. “One second,” he says, digging through the box to get to - “Aha!”

It’s a Captain America headband, with a blue band and a glowing white A and wings. It takes another few moments of digging to find an Iron Man one - this one is a red crown with the golden faceplate of the armor set right in the middle.

“Oh, those are perfect,” Tony cackles when he sees what Steve’s found, grabbing the Cap one out of Steve’s hand and plopping it on his head. It tangles in his curls. “Duōshǎo qián?”

“Twenty,” the man says, pointing to one. “Twenty,” he gestures to the other.

“Sìshí?” Tony confirms, and when the man nods, tosses a hundred his way. “Xièxiè. Chūnjié kuàilè!”

“Chūnjié kuàilè,” the man repeats, turning away to find his next customer in the crowd. Steve jams his Iron Man crown on his head, flicking the switch to turn the light on.

“Shall we go?” Steve asks, offering his hand to Tony.

Tony grins and takes Steve’s hand. “Only twenty minutes to get to the river,” he tells Steve. “Don’t know if we’re gonna make it.”

“Eh,” Steve shrugs. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out. After all, I’m Iron Man and you’re Captain America.”

“You’re right,” Tony agrees, as he starts back off down the road. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chinese translations, in order:
> 
> Tony to vendor: How many?
> 
> Tony to vendor: Forty? Thanks. Happy Spring Festival!
> 
> Vendor to Tony: Happy Spring Festival


	11. Dark History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Steve are at a gala when Tony spots an unfortunately familiar face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of past sexual assault/rape
> 
> angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of previous relationships

“Hello, handsome.”

Steve finds himself smiling before he so much as turns around. “Hey, sweetheart,” he says, raising his hand to signal the bartender for another glass of soda water. He turns to face his husband, passing him his own glass. “How’s it going?”

“Oh, it’s going,” Tony says, settling down on the stool beside Steve. He always looks spectacular, but tonight he’s particularly stunning: his Armani suit is deep red and hugs him in just the right places, and he’s wearing a bright floral tie that brings out the flecks of green in his eyes. Steve gave him that tie; it’s his favorite. “Schmoozing and not-boozing, you know how it is.”

Steve settles his hand on Tony’s thigh and gives it a subtle rub. “Yeah, I do.” Tony had quit drinking almost two years ago now, but it never gets any easier. Steve’s not sure he’s ever been as proud as he was the day he came home to find Tony emptying his $5,000 bottles of whiskey down the kitchen sink.  _It’s too much,_ he had said without looking at Steve,  _I need it too much._ So Steve had helped him hunt down the last dregs of alcohol in the house, throwing away expensive champagne and old soured beer and the mini bottles of vodka tipped over behind the condiments.

“Anyway, I think there’s just one more investor I need to chat with tonight and then we can head home,” Tony continues. “Should even have time for a movie. Wanna pick up a pint of ice cream on the way home, come up with something to rent? JARVIS suggested -“

Tony cuts off abruptly, half through his sentence. “Tony?” Steve prompts after a moment, turning back to his husband. “What were you -“

He cuts himself off when he sees Tony’s face. He’s pale, mouth fallen open, and his gaze is caught on something in the distance - someone in the middle of a throng of black-suited businessmen. Steve can’t pinpoint who or what it is from this distance, but whatever it is, he knows it’s bad news.

 ****“Tony,” he says again, reaching out for Tony’s arm. Tony actually flinches when Steve touches him, and it’s only when they make eye contact that he stops leaning away from Steve’s touch.

“Sorry,” he says, “Just distracted, you know me -“

“We agreed not to lie to each other,” Steve interrupts, voice quiet. Tony clenches his jaw, then nods.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Follow me.” He slips off his stool and slides gracefully into the crowd, and Steve grabs at his hand so he won’t lose him.

Tony leads him to a little unlabeled bathroom at the back of the hall. It’s small, and dingy, and he locks the door behind them with shaking hands.

“Tony?” Steve prompts after a moment when he doesn’t move. “Are you okay?”

Tony turns away without looking at Steve, moving to the basin in front of the mirror. He settles his hands on either side of the sink, staring down at the drain.

“There’s a guy here,” Tony says quietly. “I’m not going to tell you which one. But he’s the guy from college.” He swallows hard. “From freshman year.”

It takes Steve a moment to realize what Tony’s saying, but as soon as he does, his blood rushes cold.  _The guy from freshman year._ The guy who - the guy who  _touched_ Tony, the guy who  _hurt_ Tony, the guy who  _raped -_

“I’m going to kill him,” Steve says without thinking. He turns, fumbling for the door lock, but finds his hands are shaking too much to get it to undone. “I’m going to fucking kill him -“

“Steve,” Tony says from somewhere behind him. Steve feels his hands on his shoulders, slipping down to his waist, and Steve wants to wrench away but he doesn’t want to hurt Tony, too. “Stop,” Tony says, “Please, just stop.”

Steve forces himself to take a deep breath, but the anger doesn’t budge. “Who was it,” he asks flatly. “Which one.”

“I’m not telling you,” Tony says. “Steve. Jesus, Steve, can you look at me, please?”

Steve swallows hard. He squeezes his hand on the doorknob, once, and it shatters in his fist. He breathes out through his nose and turns to face Tony.

Tony - doesn’t look scared, exactly. Not of Steve, at least. But he’s still pale and looks almost frantic, and without thinking Steve reaches forward to cup Tony’s face in his hands, stroking his thumbs over Tony’s cheekbones. Tony relaxes gratifyingly into his grasp.

“I’m not telling you who it is,” Tony repeats, bringing one hand up to clutch at Steve’s wrist. He rubs his thumb over Steve’s pulse point. “But you’re right, I don’t want to lie to you.”

“Tony, he’s -“ Steve shakes his head. “He needs to be brought to justice. He needs to face consequences for what he did.”

“Not those kind of consequences,” Tony says. “Steve. Please. I don’t - we’re here for good press, tonight, the Avengers could use some good press, and I can’t - you can’t go beating my ex-boyfriend into a pulp. Imagine what the newspapers will say.”

“I don’t care,” Steve says.

“Well, I do.” Tony sighs, turning his head to press a kiss to Steve’s palm. “It means a lot that you’re willing to defend me like this, don’t get me wrong. But it’s not what I need right now. It’s not what any of us needs.”

Steve wants to argue with that - the boiling fury in his blood certainly makes him feel like this is what he needs- but some part of his brain recognizes that Tony is right. That scum deserves to be slapped over the tabloids and exposed, made to hurt like he hurt Tony but - Tony doesn’t. The last thing Tony deserves is more pain.

“Okay,” Steve agrees, and feels horribly guilty for the way Tony goes limp with relief in his arms. He leans in to press a kiss to Tony’s forehead, to each of his cheeks. “You’re right, I’m sorry,” he says. “How about we head home? There’s nothing more we have to do here tonight.”

“There was one more investor Pepper wanted me to talk to -“ Tony starts reluctantly.

“Not tonight,” Steve says. “I’ll talk to Pepper, we can get someone else to handle it. You’re done for the night.”

He knows he’s made the right call when Tony leans up and kisses him, jelly-soft and painfully sweet. “All right,” he agrees. “Netflix and Chill?”

“Netflix and Ice Cream,” Steve corrects, and Tony laughs. Steve wraps his arm around Tony’s shoulder as they head out of the bathroom, a solid, hopefully grounding weight.  _Tomorrow,_ he thinks, rubbing his thumb over the nape of Tony’s neck.  _I’ll deal with him tomorrow._

For now, he has Tony. He will always have Tony.


	12. Hiroshima

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Atomic Bomb Dome in Hiroshima is staggering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship, discussions of WWII/the atomic bomb

The Atomic Bomb Dome in Hiroshima is staggering. Not in it’s height, or grandeur, but in it’s aching quiet: it’s pitted stone, it’s cracked foundation, its hollow walls, like craggy peaks, blocking just enough sun to cast a ghostly shadow.  _Yes,_ it seems to say,  _yes, I’m here. I haven’t gone. Even though you want me to._ It’s just enough building to easily imagine the landscape without it there; yet the artist in Steve can see exactly what it would look like completed, what it must have looked like, in it’s heyday, before Truman made the decision to drop a bomb on it.

 _Are you sure you want to go there?_ Tony had asked, when Steve had told him of his plans to visit the memorial.  _It’s - it’s kind of dark, Steve._

Steve had clenched his jaw, resolute.  _We should face the consequences of our actions,_ he had said.

Tony had sighed, stroking a hand over the back of Steve’s neck.  _This wasn’t your action._

But Steve can’t help but feeling partially responsible. Sure, he had no idea that the atomic bomb was even an  _idea,_ and he wasn’t active at all in the Pacific theater of the war, but - still.  _Still._ He can’t help but think if somehow he’d been better - if he’d seen more, done more,  _tried_ more. Maybe he could have helped stop the war before it ever got to that point.

“Hey,” someone murmurs behind Steve, their warm hand sliding over his arm. Tony.

Steve swallows hard, not trusting himself to speak. The breeze is cool against his cheeks, and he thinks if he can just take a minute, if he can just breathe, he can fight back the hot tears pressing against his eyes.

“Hey,” Tony says again, gentler this time. He slips his hand around Steve’s waist, nestling into his side. “Hey.”

Steve wraps his shaking arms around Tony and buries his face in his hair. He smells like his cologne, woodsy and sharp, the same smell that permeates every corner of their bedroom. It doesn’t entirely burn the smell of ash and blood from Steve’s nose, but it comes close.

“Hey,” Steve whispers back.

They stand there a long while in the quiet.


	13. Do You Love Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve doesn't like the winter; Tony doesn't like the summer.
> 
> Inspired by Coffee by Sylvan Esso (highly recommend listening while you read).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, pre-relationship, established relationship, hurt/comfort

Steve doesn’t like winter.

Realistically, it doesn’t affect him much. Nowadays, there’s much less snow than there used to be, and it’s much less restrictive: big pileups get plowed and salted overnight, black ice is carefully avoided, and modern heaters burn the last bits of cold out of the corners.

It’s a psychological thing, Steve knows, because he knows the Tower’s heaters are the best in New York, yet still he shivers and shakes in his sleep. Most nights it keeps him awake, until he’s forced to his feet at two or three or four in the morning, going for a long run in the gym, a soak in a burning hot shower, anything to prove to himself that he’s warm enough. He’s not freezing.

This particular night, he only gets about an hour of sleep before the tremors wake him. He lays in bed staring at the ceiling, counting the seconds, hoping for them to subside. But eventually, after thirty minutes lying curled in the fetal position beneath his truly staggering stack of woolen blankets, he has to surrender. He drags himself out of bed, a blanket around his shoulders like a cape, and heads down to the common area.

He’s planning to make some warm milk. His Ma used to make it for him in the winter; it’s sweet and calming and heats you up from the inside out. But he finds his plans changing when he steps inside the kitchen and finds Tony standing in front of the coffee machine, staring at it’s full pot without moving.

“Tony?” Steve asks, and Tony startles, jumping half a foot into the air.

“Jesus,” he says, when he sees Cap. He rubs at the arc reactor, as though trying to force it back in, a nervous habit of his that Steve’s noticed. “I have a heart condition, you know.”

“Sorry,” Steve says. “What are you doing up?”

Tony shrugs, pulling a mug from the cabinet for his coffee. “Revolutionizing modern science, got a bit caught up in a project. The usual.”

Steve catches Tony’s hand as he tries to raise the full coffee mug to his mouth. “You need to sleep,” he says. “Not more coffee.”

Tony pouts. “Actually, I think more coffee is  _exactly_ what I need -“

Steve takes the mug from him, and before Tony can protest, drains the whole thing in one gulp.

“Ah,” he says, smacking his lips. “That’s good.”

Tony gapes at him. “You - that was my coffee!”

“Not anymore,” Steve says, biting back a grin at the outraged expression on Tony’s face. From the look of him, you would have thought Steve had just insulted his mother. “Let me make you something else. Warm milk?”

“Or I could make more coffee,” Tony counters.

“Or I could make you warm milk,” Steve says. “Come on, Tony, you need sleep. For me?”

Tony sighs. “This better be the tastiest warm milk I’ve ever had,” he warns, and finally Steve lets himself smile.

“It will be,” he promises. “Go wait for me in the living room.”

Fifteen minutes later, they’re curled up together on the couch, sipping at their mugs of milk. Steve isn’t quite sure how they ended up sitting so close, but somehow they’d migrated together. Outside the window, snow falls, thick and white, and they watch it together in silence. Eventually, Tony falls off to sleep on Steve’s shoulder, half-full mug tilting in his hand. Steve takes it, setting it aside with his own, and settles down, resting his head on top of Tony’s curls. He can drift off for a moment, right? Tony won’t mind. Just for a moment.

 _I love him,_ Steve thinks, just before he drifts off to sleep. Maybe it should be scary, but all he feels is soft.

-

When Tony was little, summer had been his favorite season. He loved the heat, the bright sunshine, the freshly cut flowers Jarvis kept on all the tables around the house. Often, Jarvis would take Tony outside to the garden, teach him what plants and flowers were which, show him how to pick fresh lettuce and cucumbers for dinner, blueberries and cherries for dessert.

It wasn’t until Tony made it back from Afghanistan that he started to hate the heat. It was just so - oppressive. Enveloping. It sat on his shoulders and pressed against his chest and often it almost felt like his arc reactor was expanding inside him, like a hot air balloon, ready to push him apart.

“They didn’t have coffee so I got you peanut butter.”

Tony accepts the ice cream from Steve and tries to push any thoughts of the arc reactor out of his mind. “Who doesn’t have coffee?” he complains, even as he licks up the side of the cone. It’s cold against his tongue, light and airy and bursting with bright flavor. Tony can almost imagine it chilling his insides, and it’s calming, that image; it makes his shoulders relax a little, makes his chest a bit less tight.

Steve shrugs, and licks up the side of his own cone. It’s a rich pink - strawberry, maybe, or cherry. “You’re supposed to be the expert on modern tastes.”

Tony rolls his eyes and takes another lick. “You say that like you haven’t been living in this century for almost two years, now.”

“Remind me you said that next movie night.”

“Okay, that is  _different -“_ Tony starts, and is just gearing up for a rant when he trips over a crack in the sidewalk. He tips forward, ice cream flying out of his hand, and he’s resigning himself to a paparazzi shot of him with a broken nose ending up on the front page of the Bugle tomorrow when Steve snags him around the waist and yanks him back up.

He saves Tony, but he’s too late for Tony’s ice cream. “No,” Tony says mournfully, looking at the mound of ice cream already beginning to melt on the sidewalk. “My ice cream.”

“Here,” Steve says, pressing his own cone into Tony’s hands. Before Tony can ask what he’s doing, he’s swooped down and snagged Tony’s ice cream from the pavement, scooping it with his bare hands and piling back onto it’s cracked cone.

“There,” Steve says. “You can have mine. Problem solved.”

“Problem - are you going to  _eat_ that?” Tony demands. “That was on the ground! In New York! You’re eating off the ground in New York!”

Steve shrugs, brushes a pebble from the side of the ice cream, and takes a lick. “Not like it can make me sick.”

“You’re disgusting,” Tony says in fascination. “Oh my god.”

Steve just grins at him. “That’s not a very nice thing to say.”

“Well, that’s not a very nice thing to eat.”

“I think you need to make it up to me,” Steve continues, as though Tony hadn’t spoken. “Apology kiss?”

“Ew, no.” Tony leans back as Steve puckers up towards him. “You’re disgusting, no I’m not kissing you, not when you’re eating ice cream with pigeon shit all over it.”

“Fine,” Steve says, tilting his head to display his cheek. “On the cheek? I did give you my ice cream, you know.”

“Fine,” Tony sighs, leaning in. “Just one - hey!”

The words are lost against Steve’s lips as Steve turns at the last second to catch Tony on the mouth. He tastes like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and the same Steve flavor Tony’s gotten to learn over the past few months.

“You’re a menace,” Tony says when Steve pulls back, already laughing. “You are such a little shit.”

“Eat your ice cream,” Steve says, turning to face the front. The sun catches his hair in profile, lighting up the strands of blonde almost white; it looks like a crown, like someone or something has decided to bless him.  _I love him,_ Tony thinks.

Tony takes a bite of his ice cream and follows Steve down the path.  _Soon. I’ll tell him soon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> specifically inspired by these lyrics: "Wild winters, warm coffee, Mom's gone, do you love me? Blazing summer, cold coffee, baby's gone, do you love me?"


	14. Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:
> 
> idk if u take fic prompts/requests but i saw a tweet that said “u so fuckin precious when u share water with me after we have sex” and all i could think about was stony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship

“Jesus Christ.”

There’s a snort from somewhere to Tony’s left, and then a ripple of movement through the mattress as Steve climbs out of bed.

“Noo,” Tony whines without moving a single finger. “Come baaack.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Steve says, but he sounds fond. Tony can’t find the energy to open his eyes and check his expression.

“Well, I’m sorry we can’t all have super-stamina, Mr.  _Super-Soldier._ ”

Another snort. “You must really be tired, if that’s the best you can come up with.” There’s a vague shuffling sound from the bathroom, and Tony thinks Steve might be getting into the shower. Tony wouldn’t blame him; sure, he likes post-sex cuddles, but Steve has to be at SHIELD in an hour. He doesn’t really have time to coddle Tony.

But the sound of a running shower never starts, and a few moments later, the bed jostles again as Steve climbs back in. Tony forces his eyes open, and finds Steve kneeling next to him, grinning down at Tony. He’s got a damp washcloth in one hand, and a bottle of water in the other.

“Here,” he says, passing it to Tony. It’s half empty, clearly half-drained by Steve, and Tony wriggles up enough against the headboard so he can sip on it without choking. In the meantime, Steve gets started on the mess they’ve made, carefully wiping Tony’s thighs and belly clean. The washcloth is warm and soft, and Tony relaxes into the touch.

“I love you,” Tony says after a moment. Steve always looks so concentrated in moments like this, moments when he’s taking care of Tony. It’s like he can’t imagine any duty more important, and he wants to make sure he gets it right.

Steve catches his gaze, and smiles at him. “Love you, too,” he says, ducking in to press a quick kiss to Tony’s lips. “Okay, I gotta get ready for work, now. You gonna go back to bed?”

Tony wiggles, feeling how none of the drooping exhaustion in his limbs has abated. “Yeah,” he decides. “I’ll see you tonight, right?”

“Yep,” Steve confirms. “I’m making dinner.”

“Mmm,” Tony hums, slipping down back under the covers. Gently, Steve takes the water from Tony, setting it down on the nightstand. The lights flick off, and then Tony feels a soft press of lips to his forehead.

“Sleep tight,” Steve whispers, and then he’s gone. Tony listens to the sound of the shower, to the warmth of Steve’s baritone as he sings  _Rubberband Man_ , and drifts off to sleep between one breath and the next.


	15. Costco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve takes Tony to Costco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship

_“_ This is a monstrosity.”

Steve glances over, rolling his eyes when he sees what Tony’s talking about. “It’s cute.”

Because the ten-foot tall teddy bear is cute. It’s a bit lopsided, maybe, and sagging, but it looks fuzzy and soft, and it’s only forty dollars.  _Forty dollars!_ In Steve’s day, that would have been expensive, but now, he knows he’s basically paying pennies on the dollar.

“It’s deformed,” Tony says, poking at misshapen arm, the stuffing clearly migrated elsewhere. “Are they trying to scare the kids?”

For all Tony’s complaining, Steve can’t help but notice that Tony hasn’t moved away from the bear, or stopped touching it; his free hand is curled in it’s soft fur, stroking lightly.

“Well, then it’s not for you,” Steve says, starting down the aisle towards the groceries. After a moment, he hears Tony’s reluctant footsteps following him. 

“I don’t think this place is for me,” Tony says, catching up to Steve. “It’s very -”

“Affordable?”

“Middle America,” Tony supplies. “I mean, look at that - that’s a gallon of Hershey’s syrup. Who needs a gallon of Hershey’s syrup?”

“I would have thought chocolate syrup would be on your list,” Steve says, shooting Tony a look. “But I guess if you don’t like it -”

“Nooo,” Tony says, “Did I say that? I didn’t say that. A giant bottle of chocolate sauce is perfect, and it’s only - wait, does that say  _twelve_ dollars? How can this much chocolate sauce be twelve dollars? What the hell did they put in it?”

“Cyanide,” Steve says dryly, grabbing a jug and setting it into their cart. They’re running low on their current bottle, and given that Thor’s in town, they’ll need more soon.

“Haha, very funny. As a matter of fact cyanide  _is_ cheaper per pound than chocolate, so that’s not a very reassuring joke -”

Tony’s voice - loud as always - has drawn a few glances from other customers. From the suspicious glints in their eyes, Steve thinks he and Tony might have been recognized despite their high-quality undercover outfits of hoodies and baseball caps.

“If you stop talking about cyanide, I’ll buy you a churro.”

Tony makes his face. “Why would I want a churro from the Midwest?”

“Because we’re not in the Midwest, we’re in New York, and they’re a foot long and a buck apiece.”

Tony considers a moment. “Fine,” he says. “You can be my sugar daddy and buy me a churro. But only if you promise that chocolate syrup is ours and ours alone.”

Steve mentally apologizes to Thor, who will surely be heartbroken when he has to resort to caramel. “Sure,” he says. “But if we’re having chocolate syrup, we’ll need strawberries to go along with it.”

-

The next day Steve returns to Costco on his own while Tony’s at work and buys the biggest and fluffiest of the bears he’d seen. An image of him wrangling the ten-foot beast into the backseat of his car ends up on the Daily Bugle the next morning, but it’s worth it for the way Tony’s eyes soften when he sees it in their bedroom. “That’s not staying here,” he says, even as he presses Steve against the wall and kisses him, hard. “That’s going somewhere else.”

(The bear stays.)


	16. Naked Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony get into a fight. Tony takes it upon himself to make it up to Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship, hurt/comfort

“- that is complete bullshit, Rogers.”

Steve clenched his teeth, trying to reign himself in. “It’s not, and you  _know_ it -”

“You’ve been married to me for thirty years, you’d think at this point you’d know me -”

“Yeah, I do know you, that doesn’t mean I have to love everything about you!” Steve explodes. Tony’s jaw snaps shut and Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I just - I can’t deal with this right now, I need to just -”

Before Tony can say anything else, Steve leaves their bedroom, heading downstairs to his office and locking the door behind him. He loves his husband, of course he does, but sometimes he can be  _so. Damn. Frustrating._

It’s not totally Tony’s fault. Even though he’s pissed at him, Steve can recognize that. Steve was having a bad day to begin with - Sam’s daughter had called him that morning, when Steve was on his way into town, and updated him on Sam’s treatments.  _They’re not going particularly well,_ she had said, with that delicate voice people use to talk about the gravely ill,  _but he’s still fighting._  The news had thrown Steve’s whole day into a funk, and after that he swore every little thing that could go wrong did. By the time he got home, all he wanted to do was cuddle with his husband on the couch, maybe watch some old movies, and eat some pizza.

Except Tony hadn’t been relaxing inside when Steve got home; he’d been standing in the driveway, hair ashy, skin covered in soot, talking to the firefighters surrounding their house.

Because he’d managed to light the lab on fire again.

Tony was right, Steve did know to expect this from him. Tony had little to no regard for his own safety, and though Steve had been working on that particular personality flaw for over thirty years, it never really faded. It certainly wasn’t the worst problem a person could have, but on a day like this - well, a demonstration of his husband’s lack of self-preservation was just about the last thing Steve needed.

Steve sighed, settling into his armchair where it faced the window. He had a nice view of the backyard, from here - a wall of windows looking out over the garden where it bled into the trees. That was why he had picked this office for his own. No matter how angry was, spending a bit of time here never failed to make him feel more at peace.

He’d only been sitting there a few minutes, though, before the scene was interrupted. Because there was Tony, emerging from the porch into the backyard, a deliberate sway to his hips; there was Tony, smiling tentatively at Steve through the window; there was Tony, completely and utterly naked.

Steve couldn’t help it - he burst out laughing. It was like all the tension in his body suddenly left it in one fell swoop, and he bent over, giggling, watching as Tony, now clearly enjoying himself, shimmied across the lawn, sidestepping rocks with tango footsteps, waving his arms through the air.

Steve enjoyed the naked dancing for a few moments before Tony finally sashayed over the window, tapping on it gently with his fingers. Steve wiped the tears from the edges of his eyes and pushed himself to his feet.

Tony splayed his hand over the glass. Steve rolled his eyes, but took the cue to press his own hand against it. “You’re so lame,” he muttered, and Tony waggled his eyebrows.

“I love you,” Tony mouthed.

“I love you, too,” Steve admitted. He sighed. “Come inside.”

Tony grins, and scampers for the door, wiggling his ass as he goes.


	17. Jelly Jar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:
> 
> You found me crying on the kitchen floor in the middle of the night surrounded by a shattered jelly jar AU with stony plssss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship

Tony wakes to the sound of glass shattering.

“Steve?” he mumbles, turning over in bed, but when he reaches out, the sheets are empty. “Jarvis?”

“Captain Rogers is in the kitchen,” Jarvis says. “He appears quite distressed.”

“Shit,” Tony sighs, pushing himself up. “Lights.”

Tony had figured this night would come. After all, he’d done the same thing with Pepper; the panic in the middle of the night,  _oh-shit-did-I-hurt-you_ thing, amplified in his case by a metal suit that would do his bidding as he slept. Tony knows Steve isn’t free of nightmares, and that his episodes will likely be made a bit more dangerous by the serum too. But they’ve only been dating a few months, sharing a bed for maybe half of that, and somehow it just hasn’t happened.

Tony slides on slippers before he heads out to the kitchen, thinking of the broken glass. Sure enough, he finds Steve bent over on the floor, dutifully picking up every little shard of the shattered jar that’s exploded every which way. Surrounding them is a dark splatter, like blood at a crime scene.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says when he sees Tony in the doorway, “I’m so sorry, it was an accident -“

“Hey, it’s fine,” Tony says, because Steve’s voice sounds kind of wet, almost thick. “It’s no big deal, it’s just - jam?”

“Yeah,” Steve says quietly, looking back down at his feet. “I - sorry, I just, I woke up, and I thought, maybe I’d make some tea, but then I bumped the jelly when I was trying to get the honey, and then I just - I just made this whole mess -“

“Hey,” Tony interrupts, more softly this time. He squats down beside Steve, laying one hand on his shoulder. Sure enough, when Steve turns to look at him, his eyes are red. “It’s fine, honey. It’s no big deal.”

“It’s just - just -“ And suddenly Steve’s crying in earnest, face in his hands but heartbreaking little sobs still clear. “I just - I keep messing everything up, Tony, I just -“

“Oh, no,” Tony murmurs, pulling Steve into his arms. “Oh, no, sweetheart, you haven’t messed up anything.”

“I have, though,” Steve croaks. “I have, I’ve - it’s my fault you got hurt, last week, I messed it all up and -“

“It is  _not_ your fault,” Tony interrupts, because he can’t stand to hear this. “Steve.  _Steve._ That was an accident that could have happened to any of us. You had no way of knowing what they were going to do. It is  _not_ your fault.”

“I should’ve done better,” Steve manages. “Then you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

Tony lets out a wet laugh. “Honey, it’s me you’re talking about. I’m always going to get hurt.”

Steve just sniffs, burying his head a little deeper in the crook of Tony’s neck. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

“Stop saying that, sweetheart.” Tony strokes his hand over the back of Steve’s head, tangling his fingers in Steve’s soft blonde hair. “We’ll clean this up in the morning, okay? Jarvis will make sure nobody comes in and gets hurt.”

“I’m -“

“If you say you’re sorry one more time, you’ve got another thing coming,” Tony warns, and Steve shuts his mouth.

“Bed,” Tony says, tugging Steve to his feet. There’s jam on his hands, but somehow he’s managed to miss the rest of his body with it, so Tony just grabs a towel from the counter and wipes him clean.

“Come on,” he says, and guides Steve back to his bedroom, strips him down, tucks him under the covers.

“Come here,” Steve murmurs, lifting up an arm and Tony cuddles under the comforter a well, tucking himself into Steve’s side.

“Everything is fine,” Tony whispers. “I’ll be here in the morning. Sleep.”

Eventually, Steve does.


	18. Bleeding Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> commission for the prompt: A little angsty stony, please! One of them (preferably Tony) is hurt in battle, and the other gets all antsy and worried as hell while waiting for help to arrive. Thank you for offering these!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst with a happy ending; established relationship

“You’re going to be fine, okay?” Steve says, for what must be the fifth time in the last minute. “You’re going to be just fine.”

Tony smiles up at him, trying not to bare his surely bloody teeth. “Of course,” he croaks. “What do you take me for?”

Steve can’t even manage the smallest grin. “Help is coming,” he says, instead of answering Tony’s question. He shifts his weight a bit, putting more pressure on the wound in Tony’s stomach, and Tony has to bite his lip to keep from screaming. He should have known something like this would happen today. After all, it’s a Monday without a board meeting - the universe had to balance out the good somehow.

And of course, because Tony is Tony, that need had manifested with Dr. Doom’s sudden epiphany on how to disable Tony’s suit. He’d waited until Tony was in the air, soaring thirty stories above the  city, before he sent him careening downward, where he smashed like a cracked egg on the pavement.  _At least I mostly avoided getting impaled,_  Tony thinks.  _At least it’s just my stomach._

The sirens are a faint sigh in the distance, growing louder by the second. But Tony’s vision has started growing fuzzy on the edges, and Steve, in front of him, has started to blur.  _It’s been a good ride,_ Tony thinks, ridiculously. It really has. Steve is - more than Tony could have ever imagined for himself. More funny, more kind, more good. There’s no one better for Tony to have spent his life with. He thinks even if he bleeds to death here, on this shit-covered sidewalk, Steve’s pinched face above him, he’d be happy.

“Just one more minute,” Steve tells Tony. His voice sounds like it’s diffusing through syrup, rounded and soft. “Come on, Tony, keep your eyes open. They’ll be here in one more minute.”

“I love you,” Tony tells Steve. Something deep inside him is telling him to say it and say it now, and he can’t think of any reason not to obey.

“Don’t,” Steve tells Tony, choking around tears. “Oh, you asshole, you’re not allowed to do this right now.”

“But I do.” Tony’s whole body is numb and heavy but he manages to move one hand to lay on top of Steve’s. It’s warm and callused and slippery, wet with Tony’s blood. “Sweetheart. Thank you for everything.”

Steve shakes his head furiously, tears spilling over the corners of his eyes. “Don’t - don’t say that, don’t thank me, it’s not over yet, it’s not-“

“I love you,” Tony says again.

Steve’s lip trembles. “I love you, too,” he manages, leaning down to press a shaking kiss to Tony’s lips. It’s unsteady, almost uncertain - nothing like how Tony had imagined their last kiss would be. But then life rarely works out that way, does it?

Tony can’t tell how far away the ambulances are now. The world has melted and warped around him, like an illusion falling to pieces, and all that’s left is this: Tony and Steve, the space between them. Tony watches Steve’s face, the slow blinking of his long eyelashes, the terrible pink of his cheeks.  _I hope I don’t forget him,_ Tony thinks.  _Wherever I go after this._

Steve opens his mouth to say something, but apparently the universe has decided they have hit their limit, because suddenly Steve’s fading away, too. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, and it’s like Steve is disintegrating on the wind, falling away as Tony reaches for him. Without Steve here to anchor him, Tony just feels lost. He closes his eyes and lets the waves pull him under.

-

He wakes, as he so often does, in a hospital room.

At first, he’s not sure what woke him. His body is still and heavy the way it often gets after he’s placed on sedatives; he could move, if he really wanted to, but even the thought exhausts him. Still, he cracks his eyes open, and manages to turn his head enough just enough to see - oh.

So that’s what’s woken him. Steve lays curled beside Tony on the bed, hand splayed across Tony’s stomach, face tucked into his shoulder. He’s shaking a little, and his fingers are clenched tight in Tony’s shirt, which Tony knows means he just had a nightmare.

“Hey,” Tony tries to say. It comes out as barely anything more than a wordless gasp, but still Steve’s head shoots up immediately.

“Oh,” he gasps, “ _Tony.”_

Tony tries for a smile. “Told you I was going to be fine, didn’t I?”

Steve shakes his head, but he’s beaming. “I hate you,” he says, even as he buries his face back in Tony’s shoulder. “Oh, you horrible, horrible man. Never do that again.”

“No promises,” Tony murmurs. He’s unable to muster the energy to  hug Steve back, but then again, he knows this is enough.

“Oh, god, I love you,” Steve whispers.

“I love you, too,” Tony says, easy and breathing.

They lay there a long while in the dark.


	19. Edward Norton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> commission for the prompt: Can you do a fic or edit for the edward Norton continuation?
> 
> AKA Edward Norton is starring in a Lifetime movie about Steve. He gets a little too handsy with Tony on a set visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship, jealousy

It’s not that Steve hates this Ed Norton guy. It’s just that he kind of hates this Ed Norton guy.

It’s not just the Tony thing, though that’s a big part of it. It’s the whole way he’s approaching this role. When Steve had met him, he had seemed nice, normal, willing to do the research it took to really  _become_ Captain America. He’d stressed as much at their first meeting: “I will do whatever it takes,” he had assured Steve, with wide, genuine eyes, and if Steve thought it was a little too earnest for an actor, well. Lots of people tended to get like that with Steve. Tony always says he brings out the character in people.

But it didn’t take long for Steve to realize that not only was Ed dedicated, he was a little bit crazy. Talking to Steve’s friends, that was understandable - he wanted to get a feel for how Steve acted, how to play him. Even the period clothes Steve got to an extent. But as soon as he insisted on living in an unheated trailer? Well. Steve had tried to explain to him that he’d lived in the 1940s, not the Stone Age, and that in fact they had had a radiator, but to Ed it was all chatter. “I think it really gets at the heart of the  _character,”_ he’d insisted, like the character was not based off the very real person standing in front of him.

And Steve had let it slide. Sure, it was weird, but lots of famous people were like that. Heck, when Tony had introduced Steve to Leonardo DiCaprio, he’d been wearing a narwal hat and babbling about Trump’s conspiracy to spread global warming, and Steve had been half-convinced it was all a very elaborate practical joke. But it wasn’t, of course, and neither was this. It was just - weird. Steve visited set a lot, to give feedback and tips and make corrections on various things, and it never failed to get his hackles up when he ran into Ed. He didn’t look much like Steve, but with the outfit, the attitude, the put-upon Brooklyn accent - Steve couldn’t help but feel like he was looking into a very thick, very warped funhouse mirror.

“Is that your old easel?”

Steve looks the way Tony’s pointing. “No, that’s just a replica,” he says. “I gave them some pictures so they could make a double.” Today is the first time Tony’s visited the set - having been too busy, previously, with his myriad of SI obligations - and now that he’s here, the tour has been filled with curious questions and idle musings.

Tony hums, appraising it for a moment longer. “It looks good.”

Steve is just opening his mouth to make a comment about the craftsmanship when they’re interrupted by a drawling voice. “That’s not the  _only_ thing that looks good today.”

Steve turns to see Norton strolling towards them. He has a very strange walk; he insists its old-fashioned, no matter how many times Steve informs him that people walked the same way in the 1940s as they do today.

Ed grins at Tony, a glint of something dangerous in his eye. “Hello, darling,” he drawls. Normally, Steve wouldn’t even think to be jealous, but - well. Ed is using the accent, like he’s still in character, the accent that Tony loves but Steve only pulls out on special occasions.  _Maybe I should use it more,_ Steve thinks.

Tony smiles politely at Ed, and holds out a hand to shake. “Nice to meet - whoah!”

Ed has grabbed Tony’s hand, but instead of going for a shake, he’s pulled him up flush against his body and moved as if to kiss him. Steve’s blood boils, but before he can so much as reach out for Ed, Tony’s got his arm twisted behind his back in what looks like a very painful manner.

“If I let go of you, will you promise not to kiss me?” Tony asks calmly.

Ed chokes out a pained yes and Tony allows him to slip free. Immediately, he moves a full five steps away from them, rubbing at his injured shoulder. “What the hell, man?” Ed demands.

Tony just raises an eyebrow. “Uh, I’m married, douchewad,” he says. “I’m kind of off the market.”

“Yeah, but I just -“ Ed splutters, looking back and forth between Tony and Steve before finally shaking his head. “Whatever, man,” he says, turning and heading towards what looks like the Kraft food table. “I don’t get paid enough for this,” Steve thinks he hears him mutter, but it’s too faint to say for sure, and then he’s gone.

Tony grins at Steve. “Okay there, tiger?”

Only then does Steve realize he’s curled his hands into fists and has yet to let them go. “Yes,” he says, forcing himself to smooth his shaking fingers out against his thighs. “Sorry, just got - caught up.”

“Mmm,” Tony hums, still grinning. “Hey, I’m getting hungry. Want to get some food?”

Steve’s expression darkens as he glances over the Kraft food table where Ed is stuffing grape tomatoes into his mouth. “Maybe we can order in.”

“Oh, come on,” Tony says, slipping forward to tuck himself up against Steve. Automatically, Steve brings up an arm to sling over Tony’s shoulder, the other stroking careful lines over Tony’s side. “You can hang all over me like a caveman. It’ll make you feel less jealous, I promise.”

All it takes is one glance at Tony’s wide, earnest eyes, and Steve sighs and breaks. “Okay,” he says,“But  _only_ if you don’t egg him on.” Tony beams.

Steve breaks half a dozen plastic cups and doesn’t take his hand off Tony’s shoulder the entire time they’re in Ed’s presence, even if that means he has to eat left-handed. Still, considering the look on Tony’s face and the quite spectacular blowjob Steve gets when they return home to the Tower, Steve thinks its worth it.


	20. Insurance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Commission for the prompt: Stony — fake married to get some kind of insurance loophole to work (you can be vague here haha) but there’s definitely feelings between them!
> 
> aka Steve marries Tony so he can get some goddamn health insurance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, get-together, pining, au

It seems like a great idea at first.

After all, Steve’s job in advertising comes with a very real, very official health insurance policy, whereas Tony’s job as a freelancer comes with precisely nothing. His profession isn’t exactly low risk, and he’d never been able to justify the sky-high premiums before, opting instead to superglue his wounds shut in the comfort of his own home. But after the third time Steve found Tony in a bruised heap on the floor, his lab descended into chaos around him, Steve decided enough was enough.

“Marry me,” Steve had demanded, even as he hauled Tony up from the ground. For just a moment, Tony had gone still and quiet, his eyes wide and shocked. Then Steve continued, “It’s the best way for us to get you a decent insurance policy,” and the expression had faded, twisted into something a bit more sour.

Now, three months later, Steve can’t decide if it’s the worst or best idea he’s ever had. Because on the one hand, he doesn’t have to worry so much about Tony getting injured. When Tony feels sick, he goes to the doctor; when Tony gets stabbed by something in a lab accident, he gets it stitched up in the ER; he even went last month for his first physical in over five years. Even the  _illusion_ of Tony being a little bit safer is enough to justify almost anything to in Steve’s book.

On the other hand, though -

“Sweetcheeks, what time are we supposed to go to the Dalton’s for the dinner party on Sunday?”

Steve sighs, checking another box on the insurance forms. “I don’t know.”

Tony likes to play it up, their fake little marriage. Technically, it is legally binding - they have a marriage license hidden away in Steve’s safe and everything - but it’s fake in every other sense of the word. Despite that, though, Tony seems to take a sort of thrill from showing it off, like an actor proud of his ability to play his newest role. He even got himself a ring he wears to the emergency room: it’s a little thing, just costume jewelry, but every time Steve sees it, something in his chest gives a little pang.

Tony pouts at Steve from beside him. “You should really check that, sweetheart. We wouldn’t want to be late.”

“Of course not,” Steve says dryly. He finishes signing his name on the last page of the insurance form, and sets the clipboard aside.

Aside from Steve and Tony, the emergency room is almost abandoned - perhaps a consequence of it being almost three in the morning. It’s just them and a young woman messing around with her phone. Despite that, though, they’re sitting close together, pressed up against each other inside the confines of one oversized plastic chair. It’s nice, the warmth of him, the sheer joy of proximity, and Steve turns to say something to that effect - what, he’s not quite sure - when he suddenly finds himself face to face with Tony, their noses only millimeters apart.

Tony grins at him, teeth flashing white. “Hi,” he whispers. For a beat, there is silence, and snakes twisting in Steve’s belly, and then Tony kisses him.

It’s short and sweet, much the way Steve imagines a married couple might kiss. Tony’s lips are soft and slick but not overwhelming. Instead, it just feels - right. Steve sinks into it, for a brief moment, but then something in his brain wakes up and he jerks away.

“Jesus, Tony,” Steve says, turning away so he doesn’t have to see the expression on Tony’s face. This is all a game to him, Steve knows, like a kid playing house, but it’s not funny for Steve. “You can’t just do that.”

Tony’s voice, when it comes, is uncharacteristically shaky. “I’m sorry,” Tony says. “I just - I got caught up in the moment.”

Steve shakes his head, pressing his eyes shut. “God, you and this goddamn - I know you’re enjoying this, you think it’s funny, you think it’s great, to pretend and laugh at the people who believed us, but - I don’t find it funny, Tony.”

“I know,” Tony interrupts, voice quiet, but Steve ploughs on.

“It isn’t funny, for me. It hurts. To see you - to see what it would be like, to have you, and then to lose it a few minutes later, and I just -“

He’s cut off by Tony’s lips on his. This time, he’s much faster in yanking away, and he throws himself to his feet, a real fury brewing in him this time.

“What the hell is wrong with you? I just said I’m not -“

“I love you,” Tony interrupts. His eyes are wide and shining, his face very pale. “I’m in love with you, Steve.”

Steve gapes. “Tony, you - you -“

“Mr. and Mr. Rogers?”

Steve blinks, pulled back down to reality by the calm voice of the nurse standing in the door. “Is one of you Tony?” the man asks, when neither Steve nor Tony respond. “You are Mr. and Mr. Rogers, correct?”

“Right,” Steve agrees dimly. Oh, god, that’s  _right._ They’re married, and they’re in love with each other. Holy shit. “Yeah, sorry, we’re - just had a fight, married couple things, you know -“

The man just smiles somewhat awkwardly, propping up the door a little further. “Of course,” he says, with a customer service grin. “No worries. If you’re ready, though, the doctor would like to see you.”

“Right,” Steve says, turning back to Tony. “Right, here, let me just -“ He helps haul Tony to his feet, letting him brace one arm around Steve’s shoulder to keep his balance as he hops, one-footed, towards the open door.

“I love you,” Steve murmurs in Tony’s ear, once the nurse turns away. The words feel thick in his throat, and this seems like almost the wrong moment to say them, but he can’t help it.

Tony turns his head so he can grin at him. “Does that mean we get to finally consummate our marriage?”

Steve gets shot a dirty look for the booming laugh that bubbles out of him, but in the moment, he couldn’t care less.


	21. Pushing Daisies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wake is almost halfway over when Steve sits up in his coffin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst with a happy ending, presumed dead, established relationship

The wake is almost halfway over when Steve sits up in his coffin.

“Wait,” he says, glancing around him at the gaping black-clad attendees, “What the fuck?”

The funeral parlor is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. “Well,” Tony says faintly.

Bruce passes out.

-

Tony is sick for almost an hour after they tell him.

It feels - repulsive, this fact, this truth that’s wormed its way into his body. He doesn’t want it to exist, or at the very least he doesn’t want to  _know_ about it, but there it is, gnawing at his soul.

Steve is dead.

What a strange word.  _Dead._ Dead. Dead. Dead. Think it enough and it loses all meaning. Tony repeats the word over and over in his brainhoping that maybe it’ll become unintelligible enough that he’ll forget what it means. Sure, Steve is dead, but what is dead, really? A collection of vowels, a collection of sounds, not a state of being. Not Tony’s  _husband’s_ state of being. After all, what would that even be? How could such a tiny word encompass such a big thing: a thing like Steve leaving him, a thing like Steve not existing, a thing like Steve lying warm but cooling on some foreign hospital bed, no IVs, no heart rate monitors, just the thin quiet of his empty shell of a body with nothing left of what used to occupy it -

Tony heaves up bile.

-

Eventually, Tony does manage to pull his head out of the toilet bowl, but only because Rhodey comes and gets him.  _You can see the body,_ he says, and Tony lets him drag him down the hall. A body. That’s what Steve is, now. A body, not a person.

The room is simultaneously exactly like how Tony imagined it and totally different. He doesn’t care. He barely notices anything, doesn’t even recognize the dark figures grouped around the corners of the room. All he sees is Steve. He’s laid out on the bed like he’s sleeping, eyes closed, a sheet drawn up to his chin. His hair is messy and soft like it always is in the morning. Tony feels something inside of him break.

“Tony -“ Rhodey starts, but Tony ignores him. He climbs up onto the bed with his husband, nestling up against his side. The body is growing cold, Tony recognizes that, but maybe Steve just has hypothermia. Maybe he’s just gotten back from a horrible mission and he needs Tony to warm him up. Maybe maybe maybe.

Tony tucks his head under Steve’s chin and stays there for a long while.

-

Tony hadn’t known pain until Steve died.

It’s only been five days and already he knows it’s the beginning of the worst period of his life. Afghanistan had nothing on this, Howard had nothing. Because those he knew would someday end. The torture, the control Howard had over him, even the depression - whether Tony broke free or died, someday, somehow, it would end. But this never end. This lack of Steve, this gaping hole in Tony’s soul - it will always be here, eating away at him, even once his body has turned to soil.

“He’s in a better place now,” some kindly old woman tells Tony, gripping his hand tightly with her warm, wrinkled fingers. She must have been one of Steve’s friends from somewhere to get invited to the funeral, but for the life of him, Tony can’t place her.

He pulls on a smile anyway. “Yeah,” he manages. “He is.” He doesn’t known that, but he’s never wanted to believe it more than he does in this moment. God, Heaven, Hell - he used to dread it, the idea of an afterlife where he’s constantly punished for his sins, but he’d welcome it all if it meant that somewhere Steve was happy.

The woman smiles at him like she doesn’t believe his lie. “It’s okay to be broken,” she tells him, and leans forward to press a kiss to his cheek. “Sometimes we all need to be broken.”

She gives him one more pat on the shoulder, and leaves before he can come up with a response.

“Tony?” someone asks from behind him, and Tony realizes it’s Rhodey. He’s looking at Tony with the pinched expression he hasn’t been able to shake for the last few days. “You okay?”

That’s when Steve wakes up.

-

“So he’s just - fine?”

Tony’s voice cracks on the words, and Steve squeezes his hand a little tighter. Steve - god, Steve  _squeezes his hand._ Because he’s alive.

“We’re very sorry, Mr. Stark,” the doctor says, shuffling his feet. He hasn’t looked Tony in the eye since he came in the room, has barely been able to glance at Steve.  _It was our mistake,_ the nurse had explained for him,  _your husband’s anatomy is - unprecedented, and what we thought was death was in fact a very, very deep sleep._ “You have to know we never wanted to cause you any pain or suffering. But yes, aside from some healing injuries, Captain Rogers is just fine.”

“I told you, honey,” Steve murmurs encouragingly. “I’m fine.”

Tony shakes his head at him, feeling turns burning in his eyes. He didn’t cry when he thought Steve was dead, but now he can’t seem to hold it back. He can’t seem to hold any of himself back. He hasn’t stopped touching Steve since he woke and Tony stumbled over to the coffin to lay his hands on Steve’s face.  _Steve,_ he had breathed, and Steve had pulled him into a hug, the sharp edge of the coffin separating their hips.

“I can’t - just -  _God.”_ Tony reaches forward, pulling Steve entirely in his arms so Steve can rest his forehead against Tony’s collarbone, his big hands on Tony’s back.

“Give us a minute,” Rhodey says quietly, and there’s the muffled sound of footsteps as the medical personnel shuffle out of the room. Not the others, though - the Avengers deserve to be here just as much as Tony, to see the teammate they all mourned together. He was dead, and now he’s here. Miracle.

“I thought you were dead,” Tony chokes into Steve’s hair. Steve shushes him, rubbing his hands soothingly up and down Tony’s back.

“I’m right here, baby. I’m just fine. I’m just fine.”

“You’re never allowed to go on a mission again,” Tony manages, and Steve laughs, rough and genuine.

“I thin we can manage that,” Steve says. “Oh, sweetheart.”

Tony sniffles. “I missed you. I - I missed you so much.”

“Oh, Tony.”

Tony shakes his head, tugging Steve up a bit so he can press a kiss to his forehead, his jaw, his cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Steve murmurs, and pulls Tony into a proper kiss. It’s wet and sloppy, tasting of Tony’s own tears, and he doesn’t care. He could never care. Steve is here and not dead and nothing will ever be this good ever again. Tony knows, suddenly, if Steve ever truly dies, Tony won’t be long for this world.

“I love you,” Steve says again, and Tony pulls him close, until he can imagine they’re one person. One person doesn’t ever have to live without part of themselves. Tony closes his eyes.


	22. Thor Odinson: Zombie Hunter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is fighting off the zombies trying to kill them when Tony has a revelation. He's never had the best timing.  
> -  
> commission for ishipallthings , who wanted steve protecting tony & love confessions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, get together)

Tony tries again to heave himself up onto one hand, but his whole body is shaking and he falls back down onto the gravel.

Things are bad.  _This_  is bad. Steve’s still braced in front of Tony, destroying every zombie that gets close enough to touch, but it’s too much, even for him. The hoards of zombies just keep coming, likes wolves intent on a kill, and Steve is slowing. He’s covered in blood, some of which is his own, and his breathing is loud. He can’t hold on much longer.

But Tony can’t help, either. He’d been the first one taken down when the zombies had arrived in Madison Square Park, having crawled out of their musty graves. One had snuck up behind him and stabbed him in the back, the tip of the knife poking through to his belly, before Tony could so much as suit up. Steve had tried to get him to safety immediately, but the best he could manage was a little back alley, where Tony lays bleeding, Steve fights dying.

A zombie manages to make it past Steve and it sprints, teeth bared, for Tony. It only makes it a few steps before Steve is spinning, lifting it up by the back of it’s neck and tossing it back into the crowd.

But it’s cost him, and the whole hoard is pressing closer now. Steve loses a few precious steps on them, and Tony thinks,  _God,_   _this is how we’re going to die._

All the ways it could have gone and they end up with this undignified death: eaten by the citizens they spent their lives trying to protect. Or Steve did, anyway. In a way, maybe this is what Tony deserves. There’s a sort of poetic justice to it, the people rising up against the billionaire who, intentionally or not, keeps putting them in harm’s way.

But, God,Tony thinks, watching Steve spin, kicking, punching,  _fighting._ He doesn’t deserve to die like this. Not Steve. He’s always been the best among them, the greatest Avenger, and Tony -

_Oh._

Suddenly it feels very obvious, like the answer to a math problem Tony’s been working for hours only to realize the answer was right there in front of him the whole time.  _Oh._ Tony loves him.

 _What a time to realize it,_ Tony thinks ruefully. Steve says he’s the one who keeps missing his chances, but what is this if not the biggest missed chance in Tony’s life?

But hey, better late than never. At least Tony knows it now, at least he can tell Steve so that he knows he was appreciated and loved and that he had a  _home_ here. A real home. He deserves that, And, besides, the worst that can happen is it makes Steve hate Tony enough to abandon him in this dark little alley and that wouldn’t exactly be the worst thing in the world.

“Steve,” Tony tries to say, but his voice is rough and hoarse, throat coated in blood. He coughs. “Steve,” he tries again, but this time, he’s interrupted by a searing bolt of thunder.

It turns the zombie in front of Steve completely to ash, and it crumples onto the floor silently. Then more blasts come, knocking down the undead left and right, and then, suddenly, there is Thor.

“Brothers!” Thor cheers, knocking the one zombie still standing on the side of the head with his hammer. It’s skull explodes like a water balloon. “Are you hurt?”

“Tony,” Steve says, already hurrying towards him. He’s panting, cheeks red and eyes scared. “Tony, are you okay? How bad is it?”

“Not that bad,” Tony says, and actually means it. It’s not that bad. It’s a price he’s willing to pay, to have Steve safe in front of him, to know that he loves him.

“Oh, god,” Steve says, when Tony’s hand falls away from the open wound on his abdomen. He pulls Tony into his arms, bridal-style, and makes for the main road. “We have to get you to the armor.”

“I’ll be fine,” Tony croaks. “Really, Cap, you worry too much.”

“I really don’t think I do,” Steve says a bit hysterically. His eyes are very blue against the blood splattered across his face, like he’s had an accident with the paints again. He’s gorgeous.

“I love you,” Tony says, without thinking. Steve screeches to a halt, and the movement sends a twinge of pain up Tony’s side. Tony ignores it. “Steve, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Steve says breathlessly. He looks wondrous. “Oh - shit, Tony, I love you, too, just - just hold on, okay?”

Then he leans down and presses the quickest of kisses to Tony’s lips. It’s not much, barely a graze, but still it leaves Tony aching for more.

“Oh, believe me,” Tony coughs, as Steve starts jogging again. “You’re worth holding on for.”


	23. Plan K

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> commission for starkphd who wanted fake kidnappings + marriage proposals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst w/ a happy ending, marriage proposal, established relationship, fluff

Tony gets kidnapped a lot.

Steve knows this. Tony knows this. Probably the whole world knows it, by this point. It’s a routine thing in their lives, like haircuts or massages. They plod along all right for a while, and then after a few months of normalcy, some villain forgets how badass the force that is Tony Stark is, and decides to try to steal him for ransom or leverage or some other dumb motivation. It usually doesn’t last more than twenty-four hours before Tony’s smoked the bad guys and broken free, leading to their asses going to jail and Steve and Tony having some pretty great welcome home sex.

So when Steve gets interrupted in the middle of his painting session by Jarvis sounding a Code Gold, he doesn’t  _immediately_ panic.

“Jarvis, show me the footage,” he orders instead, in what he hopes is a relatively calm voice. Not that Jarvis would judge, but Tony would, once he got home safe - he’d tease Steve endlessly about panicking over nothing. Which would be stupid, because Steve’s  _not_ panicking. He’s not.

“This was taken seven minutes ago, Captain,” Jarvis says, projecting a video up on the wall. Steve bites back a demand of  _why_ it took seven minutes to inform Steve and pays close attention to the footage.

It’s grainy, shot from a bakery’s security cameras across the street from where Tony was taken, and out of focus. Still, what it shows is clear: Tony, with his unmistakable goatee and glowing blue reactor, standing on the curb talking on his phone when suddenly, a masked man appears behind him. He hits him on the back of the head, and Tony drops like wood, straight into the masked man’s arms. The man then proceeds to drag Tony to a waiting van - conveniently dark, and conveniently angled so the camera doesn’t catch it’s license plates - which takes off down the street.

It seems a little strange to Steve at first. Not that Tony got kidnapped - God knows he’s come to expect that - but the exact circumstances. The way the kidnapper strikes at him seems like it’d be a glancing blow, but it knocks Tony out easily. Steve frowns, but brushes it off as a weird angle, with the slight possibility whoever it is is a poorly trained meta-human, and calls SHIELD.

“Has Jarvis showed you the footage?”

“He has,” Hill confirms. “We’re putting a situation team together now. Come down to HQ.”

-

Tony is a genius.

“I am a genius!” Tony announces to his lab. Dummy whirrs and Butterfingers beeps, and Tony chooses to take it as affirmation. “You boys are lucky,” he tells them, “To have such a genius dad. Truly, the mind boggles.”

“You are definitely a sight to behold,” Jarvis confirms, and, grinning, Tony flips off the ceiling.

“You’re such a little shit,” he laughs. “God, I love you.”

“Maybe save that for Steve.”

Tony whirls around in his chair, almost falling off, but just beams wider when he sees Bruce standing in the doorway. “Bruce, baby! Come here!!!”

He wiggles his arms until Bruce obliges, stepping forward so Tony can give him an enthusiastic, rib-crushing hug. Then he pulls back, still beaming, so he can thrust a tablet in Bruce’s face. “Look! Look at this, Bruce, aren’t I a genius?”

Bruce squints, pulling on his reading glasses. “What is it, some sort of blueprint?”

“Yes,” Tony says. “Well, no. Well, yes in that it’s a blueprint for how to propose to Steve Rogers.”

Bruce’s eyes widen and the tablet drops to his side. “You’re going to propose?”

Tony nods vigorously, gesturing back to the tablet. “It’s all right there,” he says. “I laid out every step, made blueprints - this is going to go perfectly.”

Bruce squints back at the tablet for a minute, flipping through pages. “Uh, Tony,” he says, “Is this -“

“A fake kidnapping plan,” Tony confirms. “Exactly.”

Bruce’s eyes shoot up to his hairline. “Um - don’t you think this might be a  _bit_ of a bad idea?”

Tony frowns. “No. Why would it be a bad idea?”

“Because Steve will be worried sick, and I doubt he’d appreciate you giving him a heart attack?”

Tony rolls his eyes, waving a hand through the air. “Oh, that. Come on, Bruce, you know me, I get kidnapped all the time, at this point, there’s no way it still worries him. And besides, I haven’t gotten kidnapped in a couple months, so he won’t suspect a thing. He’ll just think we’re past due for another round.”

Bruce sighs, looking back down at the tablet in his hands. “There are so many ways this could go wrong.”

Tony grins. “You want in?”

Bruce shakes his head, but he smiles. “You know I do.”

Tony laughs, pulling Bruce back in for one more brief hug. “Trust me, it’s gonna be great.”

-

T-minus three hours since Tony’s been kidnapped, and nobody seems to have any clue where he’s gone.

Steve breathes through his nose and tries not to freak out. It’s fine, it’s only been a few hours. If it got to be a few  _days,_ then that’d be worrying. But for all they know, Tony’s still unconscious. They just need to give him more time to get free.

As logical as that line of thought is, though, it does nothing to assuage the tight feeling in Steve’s gut. This is the worst routine, this tradition of kidnappings: every time, Steve feels a little sicker, a little more scared, as he’s forced to wonder, again and again, if this is it. If this is how he loses the person he loves most in the world, if this is when his stolen happiness is meant to end.

But there’s nothing he can do about it but square down and fight, so he does. He does everything he can to help the search - checks Tony's planned schedule for the day, visits the corner he got stolen off of, asks around the street for witnesses. But there’s nothing, and eventually, Steve has to admit defeat and come back to SHIELD, where the best tech experts in the world are digging into every bit of information they can get their hands on to try to find Steve’s partner.

Finally, almost five hours after Tony is taken, they catch a lead. A gas station security cam in Brooklyn has gotten a glimpse of a dark van, identical to the one that took Tony, parked across the road.

“It’s been there for two hours now,” one of the junior agents says, and Steve rises from his seat.

“Suit up,” he tells the other Avengers and runs towards the Quinjet. The ten minutes it takes for everyone to assemble and for the jet to take off feels like the longest ten minutes of Steve’s life, but finally, they’re moving, heading towards Tony.

The neighborhood is dim and dingy, like something out of CSI. The gas station’s sign is half out, and empty beer bottles and soda cans litter the streets. It’s not too far from Steve’s old place here, but it couldn’t look more different.

The van is empty but for some garbage and a watch on the floor of the backseat that Steve recognizes as Tony’s. The clock face is shattered like someone cracked it under their boot, and Steve’s breath comes a little tighter in his chest.

“We should start canvassing the buildings,” Steve hears himself say. “Start with the three in closest vicinity, then spread out.”

“SHIELD can take the school,” Natasha pipes up before Steve can say anything. It’s rare that anyone tries to take over from Steve, but surely she can see how rattled he is. “We should take this apartment building. I think I spotted a light flickering.”

Steve didn’t see anything, but he trusts Natasha’s judgment. “You heard Widow,” he says, and the SHIELD troops snap into order, like armored ants filing away to examine the space around the nest.

“I’ll take point,” Steve says, moving towards the front of the pack. “Thor, you head right, Widow, go left. Hawkeye, try to find a bird's eye view.”

The inside of the building is just as old and rotted as one would expect, almost like a haunted house. Spiderwebs cling to the corners of rooms, and floorboards creak under Steve’s boots as he creeps forward. For the most part, the building is silent, but as he moves past the lobby and back towards the apartment building, he hears what sounds like laughter. It’s not a pleasant sound.

“Possible lead,” Steve mutters into his comm device. “Sound coming from Apartment #4. Everyone on alert.”

The closer Steve gets, the louder the noise is. Steve can’t help but hasten his pace, moving as fast as he dares without giving away his location. He’d burst right in there if he could, but then Tony might be hurt, and  _that -_

“Maybe you should give him a taste,” someone chuckles, voice thick and low. “A taste of his own medicine.”

And Steve doesn’t know what that means, but he knows it’s bad enough to abandon caution. He sprints forward the last few steps, effortlessly smashing the door down, to find -

An empty apartment. There’s no furniture, just a rug spread across the middle of the floor. Some of the walls are cracked and the light through the window is muddy with dust, and there are Christmas lights strung up around the room. On the kitchen counter, a recorder sits, but as Steve watches, the active light flickers out. All of this and Tony is nowhere to be found.

“Something’s wrong,” Steve says into the comms, “Everyone on alert, something is not - oh.  _Oh.”_

Because he’s turned around and spotted him: Tony. Tony, not a hair on his head disturbed, just as put-together as he had been in the surveillance footage. Tony, with his warm eyes and tight lips and shaking hands. Tony, on one knee.

“Steve Rogers,” he starts, and Steve feels his brain white out. “These past few years have been the happiest of my life. I never thought I would have someone as incredible as you in my life, but here we are. I love you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything else, more than I ever  _will_  love anyone or anything else. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Tony swallows hard. He looks nervous, Steve thinks, but he can barely process it, can barely even think to move. It’s - Tony’s okay. Tony’s not been kidnapped or killed, Tony is - proposing. Tony is proposing?

“So, with that in mind, will you marry me?”

Tony pops the lid on the ring box in his hand and Steve catches a glimpse of a glimmering golden ring. Oh, god. Tony’s not dead. Tony’s proposing. Tony’s okay.

“Oh, you shit,” Steve croaks, falling to his knees so he can pull Tony into his arms. He’s shaking, he realizes, right along with Tony. “Oh, you - I was worried sick.”

“What?” Tony tries to pull back but Steve won’t let him budge. “Come on, you know not to worry about kidnappings anymore.”

“Of course I worry,” Steve says. “Jesus, Tony. I love you more than anything else in this world. Of course I -“ he cuts himself off, shaking his head and pulling Tony a little closer to him. Tony is warm and soft and very very alive, and he’s an idiot, but Steve loves him.

Tony’s gone still in his arms. “I’m sorry,” Tony says softly, wrapping his arms a bit tighter around Steve’s waist. “And I don’t want to change the subject but, uh, you haven’t exactly answered?”

Steve shakes his head, pulling back so he can cup Tony’s jaw in one hand. “Of course I’ll marry you, Tony,” he says, watching as Tony’s eyes light up at the words.

“Yeah?” Tony asks breathlessly.

“Yeah,” Steve confirms, “You goddamn idiot,” and finally leans in to kiss him.

It’s slow and sweet and makes something in Steve’s stomach click into place.  _Safe,_ he thinks, feels it in his fingers, and finally, his shoulders start to loosen.

“I told you this was a bad plan,” someone says from the doorway, and Steve, automatically tensing, tears his gaze away to see Natasha grinning down at them. Behind her are Clint and Thor and even Bruce. “You should learn to listen to me.”

“Hey,” Tony protests, pulling Steve a little closer by the waist. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Natasha rolls her eyes as Steve presses a kiss to Tony’s cheek. “It worked,” he agrees. “Now where’s my ring?”

Tony pulls the ring back out and, with careful hands, guides it onto Steve’s finger. It’s a perfect fit, a perfect match, just like everything Tony’s ever made for him.

“It’s made from the Mark 6,” Tony tells him quietly. “The one I was wearing when we met. Do you remember?”

Does Steve remember? Of course Steve remembers. A man of science flying like it’s nothing, gleaming in the darkness, one of the most powerful things Steve had ever seen. He didn’t know it at the time, but it was the first glance he’d have at his future.

“You’re so stupid,” Steve tells Tony, voice tremulous. “So fucking -“

Tony kisses him and steals the words away.


	24. Hello My Old Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> commission for acachette who wanted oblivious tony college au!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get-together, college au, fluff, hurt/comfort

Tony moans, dramatically throwing himself face-first down on his bed. “I  _hate_  Valentine’s Day.”

“Get your head out of the mattress,” Bucky advises from where he and one of his friends are halfway through a vigorous round of Mario Kart. “You sound like you’re speaking Hindi or something.”

Tony rolls over so he’s staring at the ceiling. “Like you could recognize Hindi,” he sniffs. “But seriously, I hateValentine’s Day.”

“Why do you - ah! jerk - why do you hate Valentine’s Day?”

Tony knows it’s Steve without looking up to confirm. Steve’s over at Tony and Bucky’s dorm room all the time; he was Bucky’s best friend since he was a little kid, just a year older than him, so had ended up at college a year early. As a result, he got his own roommate last year, and now Bucky gets the honor of staying with Tony Stark. And Tony’s gotten the honor of meeting Steve Rogers.

“Because I never have anything to  _do,”_ Tony whines. “Ugh. I’m like a sad girl from a 1980s rom-com. Nobody wants to take me out, nobody wants to date me, nobody even wants to  _fuck_ me! What’s the problem? Am I un-fuckable?”

There’s a sound like a muffled cough from Bucky’s half of the room, and then the unmistakable sound of an electronic car crashing. “Luigi wins!” the game announces cheerfully, and Bucky whoops.

Finally, Tony heaves himself up enough to squint at the TV. “You’re playing Mario Kart,” he says. “How the hell did you lose to Bucky at Mario Kart? He sucks at this.”

“Oi,” Bucky protests, and Tony just rolls his eyes. On screen, the image of Steve’s cart’s smoldering remains has been replaced by the game selection page. Bucky starts scrolling through the options and Steve turns to face Tony.

“You’re not un-fuckable, Tony,” Steve says resolutely, cheeks tinged pink. “There’re a million people out there who’d love to go on a date with you, you just have to find them.”

Tony sighs. “I don’t know. I mean, if there are so many people who want to date me, where are they, huh? Like, name one person who would go on a date with me.”

“Me,” Steve says.

Tony jerks his head up, eyes widening. Steve can’t mean -

“I’ll take you out on a date,” Steve says. His voice is tight but his eyes are wide and genuine. “It’ll be fun. I’ll even bring you some heart-shaped chocolates.”

Bucky snorts, still scrolling through their options. “What, and this is a friendly date, is it?”

Steve blushes a little deeper, bumping Bucky’s shoulder. “Shut up, Buck.”

“Yeah,” Tony says, “Don’t make it weird.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yeah,” Tony finds himself saying. “Yeah, actually, I’d love that.”

Steve beams at him. “Great. I’ll pick you up at six?”

“Sounds good,” Tony agrees.

“Hey, idiot, you took too long and now we’re playing Rainbow Road.”

“Goddamnit, you know I hate Rainbow Road,” Steve complains, but he turns back to the screen and lifts his controller anyway. Tony flops back in bed and stares at the ceiling, not quite sure what the flipping sensation in his stomach means.

-

Steve was interesting from the first moment Tony saw him.

Not just the bodybuilding vibe - though, okay, that was definitely a plus. Those abs, as strong and defined as a washboard, pecs that legitimately dance when he moves, and his  _biceps -_

But no. Even after their very first interaction, Tony knew Steve was a person worth getting to know.

It had been late, a Wednesday evening, and Tony had come home from the lab tired and mangy, ready to pass out on the nearest flat surface. No sooner had he opened the door, though, than his spirits spiked - because laying on Bucky’s bed was a very hot,  _very_ shirtless blond guy.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Tony had all but purred, delighting in how the guy startled. “I see somebody got lucky tonight.”

“Jesus,” he had said, pressing a hand to his heart like a fainting woman in 1920s dramas. “God, are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Sorry, just, you know, figured I could come in since it’s my room and all.”

“Right,” the guy had said, grimacing like he was either constipated or facing a severe moral quandary. “Uh, I guess you’re Tony, then?”

“Sure am,” Tony had smirked. “And you are?”

“Steve,” Steve had offered, and the name dinged like a faint bell in Tony’s memory. He moved as if to offer a handshake, but then winced and swayed back. “Uh, I’m Bucky’s best friend. I got into a bar fight, and he said I could - uh, I could crash here tonight? If that’s okay with you.”

Tony hadn’t noticed before, but now that he was looking, he saw it: bruises littering Steve’s body in the shape of fists, not lips, and little cuts over his forearms and forehead.

“What was the fight about?” Tony asked curiously.

Steve shrugged, looking down at his feet sticking out of his comforter shell. “Some guy was giving a girl a hard time. I don’t like bullies.”

And that was what made it stick. Not the muscley, modeling physique, but the person. The weird, interesting guy who got into bar fights to protect a girls’ honor and blushed like a child. Good bodies are worth appreciation, of course, but they’re not intriguing:  _this_ was. A seemingly good person.

Over the coming months, as Tony got to know Steve better, his impressions were only confirmed. Steve was stubborn, almost to a fault, but he was also courageous and kind and funny. He liked drawing but was majoring in social work so he could give back to the community he’d grown up in. When he was in high school, Bucky insisted he was short and skinny and all of ninety pounds, and despite that, challenged football players to fights behind the bleachers when they made racist comments about the Thai exchange student in the hallway. “Lost those fights every time,” Bucky had said. “This boy’s been in the ER more than my sister, and she’s a freaking nurse.”

Steve had rolled his eyes and changed the subject, but the conversation, like many others Tony had with or about Steve, had stuck. Steve almost didn’t feel human to Tony - he was like a knight in shining armor, a hero straight out of a storybook, and Tony was half-convinced if he pressed too hard the illusion would crumble and reveal a puppet shell of a man, but it never did. Everything Tony learned about Steve just made him like him more and more: how he got a part-time job at fourteen to help his mom with the rent, the gorgeous sketches he did and brushed off as doodling, his voracious defense of the Dodgers against every other baseball team in the nation.

It just got worse when Steve started doing things for Tony.

Not big things, for the most part. Just little favors to boost Tony’s mood. One of Tony’s favorite candy bars, tucked into the pocket of his coat with a smiley face drawn in permanent marker on the wrapper. Tony’s favorite brand of mechanical pencils suddenly appearing by the dozens in his desk drawer, just when he was running out. Texts with ridiculous emojis, horrible puns DM’d to Tony’s Twitter, the occasional sticky-note in the bottom of Tony’s bag with a hideous sketch of Bucky, his teeth or nose or ears drawn out to epic proportions. Once, Steve even left Tony a box of fresh cookies after Tony told him he was having a rough day.  _For stress eating :)_ the note on top of the box read, and when Tony opened the box, sure enough, it was filled with double-chocolate cookies, still melty and warm.

So really, it’s not Tony’s fault if, over time, his appreciation of Steve has veered a little closer to romance than is appropriate. It’s fine. It’s Steve’s fault, anyway. He’s kind and smart and beautiful and perfect, and, more important than all of that, he’s  _good._ Tony really couldn’t be expected to feel anything else.

But he can be expected to control himself, so he does. It’s a Catch-22, caught in an impossible situation. Because Steve’s perfection means Tony can’t help but fall for him, but his perfection also means Tony can never tell him. Steve’s too much, too  _good_ for someone like Tony. So Tony keeps his feelings to himself and tries to turn off the wanting.

-

True to his word, Steve shows up on Valentine’s Day at six o’clock on the dot.

“Hey,” he says, smiling nervously at Tony when he opens the door. He’s dressed up: wearing nice slacks and a sweater, hair slicked back. Tony’s very glad he decided to err on the side of overdressed himself. “Uh, these are for you.”

He thrusts something Tony’s way and only then does Tony realize it’s a box of chocolates and a single white rose. The thorns have been carefully removed, and Tony bites back a smile as he slides his thumb down the smooth stem of the flower.

“Thank you,” Tony says honestly, turning to set them on his bedside table. “I, uh - that’s really nice of you.”

Steve just shrugs, still smiling. “Well, you said you wanted a date.”

Tony grins a bit back. “Should have known you’d take me seriously. Well, come on then, Rogers, show me how you woo someone.”

“Bring him back by eleven!” Bucky calls from inside the room.

“Who are you talking to?” Steve asks.

“Both of you!”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Goodbye, Bucky,” he says, and tugs the door shut behind them.

“So,” Tony says as they start off down the hall, “Where are we headed?”

“Uh, I was thinking this little Italian place? It’s not very fancy but the food is really good.”

“Sounds great,” Tony says, tucking his hands into his pockets. All Steve manages is a tight smile, and Tony sighs, rocking sideways to bump Steve’s shoulder. “Steve, honey, lighten up. It’s going to be fun!”

“Right,” Steve mutters, almost to himself, before squaring his shoulders. “Right,” he says again, more confidently now. “This is going to be a fun Valentine’s Day for you. I did promise you that.”

“And Steve Rogers doesn’t break a promise,” Tony agrees, holding open the door and ushering for Steve to step outside. “So. You’re in charge here. Which way are we headed?”

Steve glances each way up and down the street and up at the sky before guiding Tony along to the sidewalk. “We can walk,” he decides. “It’s warm enough. Did you bring gloves?”

“Yes, Mom,” Tony laughs, feeling his own nerves calm a bit as he falls into step beside Steve. “Lead the way.”

-

The restaurant is just as quaint and traditional as Tony would have imagined, with vines growing over the snowy trellis outside and candles flickering in the windows.

“Oooh, very storybook,” Tony teases, and Steve ducks his head. “I love it.”

The waitress who leads them to their seats is young and chipper and Tony can’t help but wonder why she’s here tonight. Is she single? Does she want to be? Is she in a relationship but couldn’t get the night off? Couldn’t convince her boss, or couldn’t afford to lose the money?

The waitress takes their drink orders to start and then disappears, leaving them to peruse the menu. “So,” Tony says, flipping to the back of the menu where the dishes are described in Italian. “What’s your favorite thing here?”

“The carbonara,” Steve says, sounding distracted. “Sorry, but is that - do you speak Italian?”

“What?” Tony glances down at the menu in his hand. “Oh, yeah. My mom is Italian, actually. She moved here when she was a kid, but she still speaks the language. Wanted to make sure I did, too.”

“That’s amazing,” Steve says, and genuinely sounds like he means it. “I wish I spoke a foreign language like that. I mean - well, I speak a little bit of Gaelic I learned from my grandparents, but that’s not useful, not like Italian. Have you ever been to Italy?”

And so the conversation is off. It’s easy and fun and Tony finds himself falling completely into the moment, forgetting there is a world outside of here where he and Steve are not on a date and arguing about whether Paris is or is not an overrated city.

At one point the waitress returns with a basket of breadsticks to take their orders, and Tony shows Steve how he cuts a hole down the middle of his and fills it with oil and vinegar, perfectly flavoring the bread.

“You’re so weird,” Steve says, as he watches Tony carve a perfect cylinder down the center of his stick with an extra straw. “What are you even going to do with the insides?”

“Eat them,” Tony says, popping the noodle-like mashed bread into his mouth. “Duh.” Steve laughs.

Their food comes, and it is delicious. Tony tells Steve as much, who blushes as though he made the food himself and says he’s glad. The conversation turns away from travel and hobbies and towards Steve - what his mom was like, where he grew up, the friends he has besides Bucky.

Steve’s halfway through a story about Clint - former foster kid, ran away to a circus when he was seven, lived with them until he hit sixteen and achieved emancipation, at which point he tested into the tenth grade with Steve and Natasha - when he suddenly cuts himself off.

“Sorry,” he says, blushing rose. “You - you don’t want to hear about this, let’s talk about something else, what’s going on with you -“

“Steve,” Tony interrupts, reaching over to lay his hand over Steve’s. Steve’s intake of breath is quiet but sharp and for a moment Tony thinks he’s overstepped before Steve’s relaxing in his chair. “Of course I want to hear about it, it’s hilarious and interesting. And even if it wasn’t, I like hearing about you.”

Steve’s eyes are wide and clear when they meet Tony’s across the table. “Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Tony confirms, giving Steve’s hand one final pat before leaning back in his chair. “Now go on, you were talking about the circus monkey -“

“Clint is not a circus monkey,” Steve chides, but he’s smiling like he can’t help himself. “Uh, yeah, anyway I was - oh, right. So, yeah, he’s been gone for two days and we’re getting really worried and then all of the sudden we get a call from Ecuador. And Clint’s just like, “Oh, didn’t I tell you? I’m backpacking this summer.” And, oh, man, you should have seen Natasha’s  _face -“_

The rest of the night passes easily with laughter and refills of Coke and endless breadsticks. Eventually, they’ve both all but licked their plates clean, and Tony can’t come up with any excuses to keep them here longer. He asks the waitress for the bill, which she brings along with after-dinner mints, and Steve insists on paying.

“I told you I was taking you out, Tony,” Steve argues, as he scribbles his name at the bottom of the check. “This is taking you out.”

“I’m really rich, you know,” Tony reminds him, but Steve just looks to him. Tony sighs and pulls out his wallet. “Fine, but I’m at least leaving the tip. How much was it?”

Tony matches the bill total, because he can and because it’s Valentine’s Day and maybe this waitress needs a little something good in her life tonight. Tony thinks Steve smiles when he sees, but he can’t be sure, because as soon as Tony notices Steve’s pushing himself to his feet and changing the topic.

The conversation on the walk home is as easy and comfortable as it has been all night, not awkward or stilted like most first dates coming to an end. Though this isn’t a real date, of course. It’s just Steve being nice, Tony knows that, he  _does._

It’s just hard to remember it sometimes, when Steve’s standing so close, his pinky brushing against the side of Tony’s hand, the heat of his body rolling into Tony’s side. Tony had known this was a bad idea, at least on some level, but he hadn’t realized it would be  _this_ kind of bad. So-good-it’s-bad bad. How is Tony ever going to be able to look at Steve normally after this?

Finally, they make it back to Tony’s dorm and up to his room. It’s past ten by now;  _before Bucky’s deadline,_ Tony thinks ruefully. Not that he thinks Bucky’s going to be here to check - more than likely he’s off at some bar with Clint or Sam, trying to find a girl sad enough to fuck him.

“Well,” Tony says, coming to a stop outside his door. “This was - this was great.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “It really was.”

They’re standing very close together in the hallway. Somewhere down the hall, Tony can hear loud music, something metal, and he feels the base of it faintly in his shoes just as he feels the pounding of his heart in his chest. Steve’s nose is only a few inches from Tony, so incredibly close. Tony can feel the warmth of his body, the brush of his breath, and he wonders -

But a moment passes, and then another, and nothing happens.

“Anyway, um -“ Tony swallows hard, stepping back from Steve and pushing the door of his room open behind him. “Have a good night.”

Something in Steve’s eyes flickers, but he doesn’t lose the smile. “You too, Tony.” Quick as lightning, Steve darts in to press a kiss to Tony’s forehead, and then he’s gone.

Tony tries to breathe around the sudden disappointment swelling in his throat. He’d thought, maybe - but, no, it’s fine. Of course Steve isn’t interested, he’d known that before. He turns and shuts the door, unexpectedly upset, but he startles when he finds Bucky glaring at him.

“What?” Tony asks defensively, but Bucky just glowers harder. “What the hell is your problem?”

“What is my - God,” Bucky sneers, and there’s something genuinely infuriated in his tone, “God, you’re so fucking stupid sometimes.”

Tony’s heart feels like it’s knotted in his chest. Suddenly this feels very crucial, like the climax of a movie that can end in one of two ways, and Tony doesn’t know how to make sure he ends up in the happy one. “What are you talking about?”

Bucky huffs, whirling around in his chair. “Steve just took you on a date. A  _date_. He bought you flowers and dressed up and took you out with the five fucking cents he has in his bank account, and probably held the goddamn umbrella over you when it started raining. That’s not a  _friend_ date, that’s a date, full stop, and I cannot tell you how much it pisses me the fuck off when you insist on playing ignorant.”

Tony gapes at him. “Wh- I - what?”

Bucky just shakes his head, turning back to his homework. “You’re an asshole, man.”

Tony grabs him by the shoulder and yanks him back around. “No, seriously,  _what?”_

Bucky stares at Tony for a long moment, like he’s searching, and then his expression breaks. “Oh, man,” he says, tone vaguely disbelieving, “You really didn’t know?”

Tony’s heart beats like a hummingbird in his throat. “Steve wants to date me,” Tony says, voice cracking. “Steve actually wants to date me.”

“Yeah, dumbass,” Bucky says, but his tone has softened.

“Oh, shit.” For a moment, Tony just basks in the warmth that statement brings - Steve  _likes_ him! Steve wants to  _date_ him! Tony feels like a fifth grader on Valentine's day, thrilled to find a little note from their crush in their locker - but he reigns it in pretty quick when he remembers the way Steve had slunk out of here, with his shoulders low and head drooping. “Oh,  _shit.”_

“There he goes,” Tony faintly hears Bucky say, but he’s already darting out the door and down the nearest staircase, damn the elevator, damn the students he rams past in his rush to get out to the parking lot. Someone is yelling, at it might be at him, but Tony doesn’t care, because he bursts out into the parking lot, and there is Steve.

Steve, sitting in his little beige car. Steve, bent over behind the steering wheel, head resting on his hands. Steve, crying.

Tony doesn’t give a fuck about the rain. He runs right out into it, shoes splashing in the puddles, so he can rap on Steve’s window. Steve startles, when he does, and it just serves to better show Tony what an ass he’s been: Steve’s face is red and puffy, eyelashes wet, and Tony wants nothing more than to kiss it all better.

Steve rolls down the window. “What, Tony?” He sounds exhausted.

“So it’s been brought to my attention that I’m a little bit of a fucking idiot,” Tony says. Normally that’d make Steve laugh, but now, he just sighs. “Bucky knocked some sense into me, though.”

“What did he say?” Steve asks miserably. “Did he - I told him not to get involved, if he pressured you, or, I don’t know, got angry at you, I’m sorry, okay, but I  _told_ him not to -“

“I want to date you,” Tony says. His chest feels tight, his heart beating too fast for his lungs to keep up, but it’s worth it for the way Steve stills at the words. “I’m interested in you, Steve, I - god, this sounds so stupid, but I didn’t realize, before. That that’s what you wanted. I just - I don’t know, I just thought you were a really great guy. But then Bucky said - and I thought - well, we don’t have to, of course, but I would like to if we could -“

Steve’s slaps his hand over Tony’s mouth. The angle is awkward - Steve leaning out of his car window, half of his body wet from where the rain was pouring in, the rest entirely dry - but it gets his point across. Tony grabs Steve’s wrist and presses a gentle kiss to his fingers, and Steve sucks in an unsteady breath.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” Steve says, and Tony laughs as something eases inside him.

“Then get out of your car and kiss me, you dork,” he says, eyes twinkling, and Steve does.

He’s warm and solid and strong, everything Tony could have imagined he’d feel like. He slips his palm up Steve’s sides, across his back, feeling the fabric slowly wetting under the slaughter, feeling Steve’s heartbeat strong as a drumbeat through his skin. Steve’s eyes are very blue, almost a little green up close, and Tony almost goes cross-eyed trying to look at them before Steve kisses him.

His lips are - soft. Warm. Tasting vaguely like mint - from the peppermint candy the waitress had given them, Tony remembers. He’s almost tentative at first, but Tony doesn’t mind. After a moment, Steve grows bolder, nipping at Tony’s lip, and then Tony really sinks into it.

When they resurface they’re both panting. “This isn’t pity, right?” Steve says before Tony can say anything. “This isn’t just - you’re actually into me, right?”

Tony shakes his head, leaning his forehead against Steve’s. “And Bucky said I was an idiot. Yeah, I’m actually into you. God, have you met yourself? You’re the kindest, bravest, funniest person I know. How could I not be?”

It’s hard to tell in the rain, but Tony thinks Steve blushes a bit. “You are too, you know,” Steve says. “The kindest, bravest, funniest person I know.”

Tony smiles and leans in to press one more quick kiss against Steve’s lips. “Thank you,” he murmurs, almost too quiet to hear over the patter of rain. “Now do you want to come inside? I’m sure Bucky can find somewhere else to be tonight.”

In the end, Bucky doesn’t need to - he lounges on his bed while Steve and Tony lie curled together on Tony’s, all of them watching the same shitty Netflix show on Bucky’s laptop. It’s just a regular Thursday night - except for all the ways it’s a million times better. For the life of him, Tony can’t stop smiling.


	25. Alien Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> commission for beautifulmonster who wanted first kiss revelations and fake dating!
> 
> -
> 
> Tony can’t decide if this is the best or worst mission he’s ever been on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get together, fluff, angst with a happy ending

Tony can’t decide if this is the best or worst mission he’s ever been on.

“Isn’t that gorgeous?” Steve asks, leaning in close to Tony to point out a sculpture on the horizon. It’s shaped like a giant neuron, twisted and gleaming, and normally Tony would appreciate it, but all he can think about is Steve’s arm wrapped securely around his shoulder, Steve’s breath ghosting over his cheek. “That must have taken someone a lot of time.”

Tony swallows hard, forcing himself to smile like a normal person. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah, it’s really something.”

Steve turns just enough to smile at him, eyes gleaming. He’s close enough to kiss.

“Aww,” someone in the background says, yanking Tony back to reality. “You two really are so cute. How long have you been married, again?”

“Six years,” Tony hears himself say.

“That’s just lovely,” another one of their local guides says. “I hope one day I can have a partnership like that.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, finally tearing his gaze away from Tony. “It’s really been the best thing to ever happen to us.”

 _Yeah,_ Tony thinks, watching the way Steve’s eyes crinkle at whatever the guide says next, the hazy orange sky lighting his hair up like fire.  _It really would be._

Too bad it’s not real.

-

The fake marriage was a necessary evil. Or at least, that’s how Carol described it.

“Look,” she had said, sighing, when they had both expressed reluctance. “Their species moves in pair-bonds, either with a family member or a significant other. You guys don’t look similar enough to be family, so you’ll have to say you’re together.”

“Just dating, though, right?” Tony had prompted when Steve didn’t say anything. “Like, we’re not supposed to be that close. Right?”

Carol’s expression grew a little pinched. “Well, actually, pair-bonds are sort of lifelong things. So it’s more equivalent to being married.”

And so now they were here, on this weird little planet in this weird little system with its hatred of privacy and love of codependency, and they are - married. It makes Tony’s stomach flip every time he hears Steve introduce him as his husband, every time he catches sight of the ring gleaming on his own finger, it’s twin on Steve’s. It feels weird and awkward and Tony couldn’t decide why that is, until one evening, as part of the show, Steve kissed him.

His lips were sweet from the fruit he had been eating and soft. The kiss was brief, but Tony felt it like electricity through his body.  _Oh,_ Tony had thought, as Steve pulled back, still smiling like nothing is wrong.  _Oh, I love him._

It was a bit of a startling revelation.

And, horribly, there’s nothing he can do about it. Day after day, he and Steve are stuck together on this little planet, trying to wrangle out something of a peace treaty as they maintain the facade. They eat off each other’s plates, go on walks to see the surrounding city with their hands clasped together, kiss each other every time they part.

It’s maddening. Now that Tony knows what’s off, he can’t stop seeing it, what his life could be like with Steve. This kind, intelligent,  _good_ man who is one of Tony’s best friends, who could so easily become the center of Tony’s entire life. In some ways who already  _has_ become the center of Tony’s life. It’s the most bittersweet thing Tony can imagine: getting a taste of exactly what you want but having it stay just that little bit out of reach.

As the days eek by, Tony gets more and more withdrawn. He passes it off to their hosts as homesickness, but Steve knows him too well to be convinced. He grows concerned as the days pass, always asking Tony if he feels okay, if he feels ill, if something is upsetting him.

Finally, on the last day of their trip, Steve pulls Tony aside to the corner of their quarters.

“Hey,” Tony says, even as he follows obediently along. “I was in the middle of packing -“

“Tony,” Steve says lowly, voice all  _cut-the-bullshit_ , “What’s wrong? Is something - are you okay? I’m worried about you.”

And he looks so genuine and sincere, and the dark green of the velvet curtains make his eyes look so lovely that Tony can’t help but lean in to kiss him.

It’s chaste and quick, nothing more than a press of lips. Steve’s mouth is slack and unmoving under Tony, and Tony savors the taste of it for just a moment before he pulls away.

“Sorry,” Tony says, looking away so he doesn’t have to see Steve’s face. “I just -“

“This isn’t just for show, is it?” Steve interrupts, sounding hoarse.

Tony’s gaze jerks up. “Wha - no, of course it’s not, and I’m sorry -“

He doesn’t have a chance to finish the sentence before Steve is pressing him back against the wall and kissing him with all the fervor Tony could hope for. His hands are hot against Tony’s jaw, his waist, and Tony’s knees go to jelly as he sinks into Steve’s body.

Finally, Steve pulls back. “I love you,” he says, breathing heavily. “I love you.”

Something is growing in Tony’s chest. That’s the only explanation he can think of for why suddenly his heart feels about ready to burst out of his skin. “I love you,” he repeats, leaning in to kiss Steve once, twice, three times. “I - you’re serious about this?”

“I’m serious about this,” Steve promises, leaning his forehead against Tony’s. His eyelashes are long, casting spider-leg shadows across his face in the dim lighting. “Tony, I’ve wanted to be with you for - forever, it feels like.”

“Well,” Tony says lightly, chest ballooning outwards, “Now you’ve got me.”

Steve smiles.


	26. Bed Built for Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> commission for nebzula who wanted a twist on the classic bed-sharing trope. 
> 
> -
> 
> Steve is hurt and, like always, is being an idiot about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, get together, hurt/comfort

“Steve -“

“No.”

“Steve -“

“No.”

“But Steve -“

“No.”

“Oh, for god’s sakes, will both of you just shut the hell up?” Natasha snaps.

“ _Both_  of us?” Tony demands indignantly. “ _He’s_ the one with the problem.”

“You can’t convince me, Tony,” Steve says resolutely, from his place laid out on the hard wooden floor. He’s got a pillow propped behind him and is leaning against the wall like there’s nothing out of the ordinary, despite the fact he’s got forty-seven poorly-done stitches holding his organs inside his body.

Tony grits his teeth. “It’s not like I’m forcing you to sleep with me.” He seems to hear the implication in the words and hastily revises, “Sleep next to me. Or with me. I’m not forcing you to do either, is the point. But you should  _at least_ take the bed.”

“He’s got a point,” Natasha says, but Steve just shakes his head.

“I’ve slept on floors plenty,” he insists. “I’ll be fine.”

“Oh my god,” Tony says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re just - so deliberately dense sometimes, I want to reach inside your skull and rearrange whatever part of your brain is in charge of the stubborn.  _All_ of us have slept on the floor, Cap. Natasha is an ex-Soviet spy and I was held in an Afghani cave for three months. We can deal with a few knots in the morning.  _You’re_ the one with a major injury, and I swear to god if you can’t get past your ego for one fucking second to realize that, I’m going to drag you up to this bed myself.”

Steve’s stomach twists, and he looks down at the floor. “It’s not ego,” he mutters.

“Yeah?” Tony demands. “Then, please, enlighten me, what is it?”

Steve clenches his jaw. “It’s - I care about you. I mean, both of you, I just - is it so bad for me to want the best for my teammates?”

“No,” Tony says, “Not if you’re not being an idiot about what the best thing is.” He sighs. “Steve. If you sleep on the floor, I’m going to be up all night wondering if you’re okay, if you’ve gotten enough rest, if you’re comfortable, if your stitches are pulling. I probably won’t sleep at all, and I definitely won’t sleep well, and  _that_  is not what is best for me.”

Steve’s eyes flit over his face, looking for a lie. “Are you just bullshitting me right now? Because that would be really unfair, Tony -”

“ _No,”_ Tony emphasizes. “Believe me, I’m not. I mean it.”

Steve’s jaw works for one more moment before he nods. “Fine,” he agrees, as Tony’s shoulders relax in relief, “I’ll take the bed.”

“Good,” Tony sighs. “Okay, Nat and I will help you up, here -“

Between the three of them, they manage to get Steve up and into the bed with minimal jostling of his wounds, though he does wince a few times when something gets strained. It’s worth it, though, for the way he relaxes back into the pillows, his limbs going soft and still.

“Feel better?” Tony asks wryly.

Steve frowns at him, but he can feel the corners of his lips trying to pull up into a smile. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Tony snorts. “Yeah,” he says. “Sure, Cap. ‘Kay, I’m going to go out and figure out how to heat up these weird-ass rations, alright?”

He settles his hand on Steve’s shoulder and squeezes gently just once, smiling, before he disappears out the door. Steve sighs like a wistful teenage girl, and Natasha settles on the bed next to him.

“I have to say, you two are possibly the dumbest smart people I’ve ever met.”

Steve frowns as he turns to look at her. “Hey.”

But she just raises an eyebrow at him, undeterred. “You want to give him the bed at any cost, and he doesn’t get it, and he wants to protect you more than anything else, and you don’t get it.”

“I don’t - I don’t know what you’re saying,” Steve says, even though a suspicion is lurking at the back of his mind.

Natasha sighs. “I’ve always said love was for children. I guess in that sense, both you and Tony are still young.”

Then she’s rising from the bed and disappearing out the door before Steve can do so much as blink.

He stares at the empty doorway she’s just vacated, trying to organize his thoughts. It’s - did he understand that right? She couldn’t possibly mean what he thinks she means, right? There’s no way - but it really sounds like she does. Steve - Steve doesn’t know what to do with that.

_In that sense, both you and Tony are still young._

“Hey, Steve,” Tony greets, reappearing in the doorway. It makes Steve startle, but he bites back the resulting hiss of pain before Tony can hear it. “I found a packet of chili mac in the back of the cupboard. Your  _fa_ vorite.”

Steve watches the careful way he handles the food, the way his hair falls in his eyes, the hunch of his shoulders under his thin t-shirt, having given up his sweater to pack Steve’s wound when they were ambushed in the middle of nowhere with no medical supplies, no technology, no anything.

 _Oh,_ Steve thinks, feeling himself start to smile.  _Tony loves me._

Nobody will be sleeping on the floor tonight.


	27. Happy Spoons and Dumb Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By the time the Avengers have been around for a few months, it's become something of an official rule: don't share a room with Steve and Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> established relationship, fluff, outside pov

The first time it happens, Natasha thinks maybe Steve hasn’t gotten used to modern masculinity’s aversion to touch.

She’s done plenty of research on Steve’s past, and she knows that, in the forties, toxic masculinity wasn’t displayed in quite the same way as it is today. Close male friends could hug, lean against each other, or grapple playfully, all without worrying about being labeled as deviant. Now, though, most guys are very ‘no-homo’, and Steve - well, he must be feeling a little lonely.

But they’re staying at a safe house for the night, paired up to share the few available beds, and Steve and Tony end up splitting a room. Natasha’s just going to give Steve an update on the food supplies when she catches them: Steve and Tony curled together, Tony’s head on Steve’s chest as he snoozes, Steve rubbing circles on his back with one hand as he holds a book up with another.

“Oh,” she says, uncharacteristically taken aback. Steve turns at the sound of her voice, but he just smiles, no sign of embarrassment. “Uh, sorry, I should have knocked.”

“No worries,” he says easily, dog-earing his page one-handed and setting the book aside. “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to let you know where we stand on food. We’ve got enough for three days until we’ll need to figure someone else out.”

Steve nods, looking unconcerned. “That should be fine,” he says. “I just heard from SHIELD, they said it shouldn’t be more than a day.”

Natasha nods. “Right. Anyway, goodnight.”

“Night,” Steve says with a smile, turning back to his book.

Natasha hesitates a moment longer before she snaps to her senses and retreats from the room. It’s not that it makes her uncomfortable, but this feels like a very private moment. Maybe that’s a sign of the times she grew up in, maybe it’s something she should be trying to fight, but in the soft yellow glow of the safehouse room, Steve and Tony feel less like lovesick idiots and more like an old couple, married for forty years, still bickering every evening about cold feet under the sheets.

“You okay?” Clint asks when she makes it back to their room.

“Yeah,” she says, sliding under the thick duvet. She and Clint are more comfortable with each other than most, but still, they’re both clearly situated on their own sides of the bed, several inches of space between their bodies. How interesting that Steve and Tony are so different. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”

-

Bruce had to actually tell Sam that Steve and Tony weren’t dating.

In Sam’s defense, they really had seemed quite close - always meeting up to go get coffee or see a museum, volunteering at the same animal shelters, the same hospital children’s wards. They were so affectionate, too, always brushing hands in the popcorn, making each other eggs, smiling in the gym - well, it had been a natural assumption. But Bruce had corrected him quickly when Sam had made a comment about it in passing.  _No,_ he said, with a rueful quirk of lips.  _No, they’re not together, just - heartsick._

Sam thought he understood what he meant, and he had nodded and changed the subject, but he didn’t really understand until their trip to Germany.

Sam has been an official Avenger for two months by the time they get invited abroad for a UN Conference.  _To discuss policy,_ whatever that means, but it’s a free trip to Europe and Sam has never traveled as much as he’d wanted to. Other than his high school trip to Spain and the traveling he’d done in the army, he’s been a largely homebound kind of guy.

So he actually asks to go, a request Tony easily grants. Steve comes along too, because, as the co-leaders of the Avengers, he and Tony are the most crucial attendees. Sam’s addition must have been last-minute, though, or maybe just ill-accounted for, because when they get to the hotel Tony’s booked for them, Sam finds they only have two rooms.

“I could -“ Sam offers, but he can’t even get a sentence out before Tony is shaking his head.

“Steve and I will share, no big deal,” he says, flashing a grin at the lobby attendant as she passes them their room keys.

The rooms end up being next to each other, with a little door on their shared wall, connecting them. Steve picks the lock easily, and they leave it propped-half open so they can shout at each other if they need something - a spare phone charger, in Steve’s case,  or information on German pick-up lines in Sam’s.

It’s not too late, but everyone’s pretty tired, so they end up ordering in and watching movies until Sam can barely keep his eyes open. Finally, the credits on  _The Shining_ roll, and, yawning, Sam moves to head back to his room. He’s just pushing himself to his feet when he glances over and realizes - Steve and Tony have both drifted off on Steve’s half of their shared king-sized bed. They’re nestled together in a romantic position, chest to chest with their arms held loosely around each other, Tony’s face buried in Steve’s neck.

Sam watches them for just a moment before carefully shutting off the TV and pulling the blinds closed. He moves a few things out of the way - shoes they could trip on on the way to the bathroom, a charging cord that could pull lose in the middle of the night - and heads back to his own room. He pauses for a second in the doorway, thinking this very much feels like a scene out of a romantic comedy, before shaking his head and shutting the door.

 _God,_ he thinks, snorting,  _They’re such lovesick idiots._

He can only hope they get their heads out of their asses sometime soon.

-

Vision has been conscious for almost two years, and still, he sometimes thinks he knows nothing about human emotion.

Not that he doesn’t feel - he does. But certain sensations, certain thought processes and justifications, those are purely organic, something he can’t replicate. It’s not something he’s particularly envious of, or at least, not something he  _thinks_ he’s envious of. It’s hard to know when you have no frame of reference: all he can judge by is the outcome, and situations decided by emotion have such wild variances that he can’t even begin to hypothesize a pattern.

So he doesn’t think he’s envious. Still, he sometimes wishes he could experience it just so he could understand. Maybe then he’d be able to empathize more fully with his teammates, see the reasoning behind their sometimes baffling behavior. Because baffling it is.

Right now, for instance. Vision, Steve, and Tony are all riding together on the Quintet back from a crisis in China. They’re all exhausted from almost three straight days of combat, so FRIDAY is driving the plane.

“We should sleep,” Tony says, the moment the jet lifts off the ground. “There are the beds in the back.”

There are, in fact, beds in the Quintet: two of them, both relatively small. Not enough for three grown men, but certainly enough for two.

“Very well,” Vision agrees, stepping towards the cockpit. “I will keep watch.”

“You should rest too, Vision,” Steve protests.

Vision shakes his head. “You forget, Captain, that I do not need sleep. I will be just fine remaining alert.”

Steve sighs, reaching forward to clasp his shoulder. “We’ll leave a bed for you if you do decide to take a rest,” he says, and he and Tony disappear together to the back of the plane.

This seems highly illogical - why would they leave one of their two beds open for Vision, when both of them wants to sleep? - but he chalks it up as merely a polite human offer. Of course, one of them will use the bed, but it would be rude not to offer.

Or, at least, he chalks it up to that until he goes back to wake them, ten minutes before the Quinjet is scheduled to land at the facility. What he finds surprises him: one bed laying empty, its pillow stolen, the other holding both Steve and Tony, the two of them pressed closely together. Tony is tucked up behind Steve’s back, his hand splayed across Steve’s stomach, forehead pressed against his shoulder blades. Steve is snoring loudly like he only does in very deep sleep; they both seem content.

 _Strange,_ Vision thinks, cocking his head at the scene. What could explain this? Perhaps there is a human need for physical contact after a fight, one he has not yet had cause to witness. Yes, he thinks, maybe that’s it. After all, humans are primates, and all primates share a need for touch and affection, particularly in stressful times.

Still, the moment feels strange to Vision, and so instead of waking them, he returns to the front of the plane. “FRIDAY, please wake our leaders when we land,” he instructs instead.

“You got it!” she chirps. “Landing in seven minutes.”

Watching the pine trees rise up in front of the cockpit, staggering and beautiful, Vision can’t help but think of Wanda. She is an extraordinary human, but a human nonetheless: perhaps she, too, needs this kind of physical comfort.  _I should talk to her,_ he thinks. After all, there is nothing wrong in asking the question.

-

By the time the New Avengers have been around for a few months, it’s become something of an official policy: don’t share a room with Steve and Tony.

Everyone’s aware of it, even if nobody’s written it down. It’s just obvious. Everyone and their best friend seems to have had some sort of run-in with uncomfortably intimate situations where Steve and Tony are concerned, and though none of them are bothered by it, they also don’t want to get further involved. “It’s just -  _schmoopy,”_ Clint had said once, and everyone had nodded and agreed.

But sometimes, terrible as it may be, it can’t be avoided. Times like today, where all the Avengers are not only stranded in the middle of nowhere at a safe house, they’re stranded in the middle of nowhere at a safe house with  _only one room_.

All in all, it’s not horrible. It’s big enough to house them, even if it is a tiny studio apartment, and it’s well-heated. It’s just not particularly private. There are no partitions or walls or doors, except that separating the main room from the little toilet. Everyone will have to sleep next to each other, hearing the others snore and talk in their sleep, watching Steve and Tony cuddle.

“Oh, god,” Clint mutters under his breath when he sees Tony pull a sleeping bag right up next to Steve’s. “We’re really going to have to watch them be obliviously romantic. Help, Nat, I can’t take it.”

She rolls her eyes and smacks him in the back of the head. “You’ll live,” she says, but Clint doesn’t miss how she keeps her gaze deliberately directed anywhere but at Steve and Tony.

“Hey, can everyone pipe the fuck down?” Tony says, a few minutes later. Cautiously, Clint turns to look, but he and Steve are just sitting in their sleeping bags, not touching. “Some of us need sleep.”

“Oh, really, Grandpa?” Clint snorts, even though he, too, is feeling the toll of today’s fight. God, when did he turn into this: a middle-aged man, no longer suited to be a circus freak or super spy or soldier. If anything, he should be a desk lackey. God, he shivers at the thought.

But Tony just rolls his eyes. “If anyone here’s the Grandpa, it’s Spangles.”

Steve shrugs. “He’s kinda right,” he tells Clint, who huffs. “Anyway, I’d like to get some sleep, too. If everyone could try to keep it down, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Sure, Cap,” Natasha agrees.

“Oh,  _you_  they listen to, but not me, oh, no no no,” Tony mutters under his breath, just loud enough for Clint to hear with his enhanced aids.

Steve grins. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs back. “I’ll make them be nice to you.”

Then, before Clint has a chance to squeeze his eyes shut or turn around or jump out the fucking window, Steve leans down and kisses him.

It’s not a short kiss, either. It’s long and comfortable and deep, the kind of kiss you’d expect to see out of honeymooning couple, and Clint gapes at them, not sure if he’s hallucinating. God, has he got that old? Is he seeing things, now? There goes his title of Hawkeye, if he can’t even see twenty feet across the room then he’s doomed -

“What the hell?” Sam exclaims, and the other Avengers join in on a cacophony of surprise.

“What?” Tony demands, pulling back from Steve so he can turn to glare at the rest of them. “That was nothing, that was barely PDA, get your heads out of the 1940s you homophobic dickwads -“

“Tony,” Steve says, stopping Tony with a hand on his chest. His eyes are sharp and glinting as he glances between each of the Avengers. “Oh my god, did you guys really not know?”

“Not know?” Tony parrots, following Steve’s gaze. “What - wait. You didn’t  _know_?”

“In our defense,” Bruce starts, and then stops, apparently unable to come up with anything to say.

“You didn’t say anything,” Clint pipes up. “I mean, why wouldn’t you say anything? We’re your friends?”

Tony makes a face. “Uh, ‘cause it was pretty fucking obvious? Come on, it’s not like I had a family hidden away in a secret farmhouse or something. It’s Steve. I can’t believe you didn’t realize.”

“What did you think our relationship was?” Steve asks. “Almost every single one of you has walked in on us together at some point or another.”

“ _What?”_ Clint demands.

“Walked in on us  _cuddling,”_ Tony amends, “Get your head out of your ass, Barton.”

“I can’t believe this,” Sam says. “Well, okay, I can believe this, I definitely knew you two were into each other, but I can’t believe I didn’t know. Damn, for a therapist I am really shit at reading feelings.”

“At least you’re not a former spy,” Natasha says dryly. “Steve. Tony. Congratulations. We’re happy for you.”

“Heck yeah we are,” Clint says. “I’m just - wow. Wow. I think I need to go to tactical training again. God, what’s happened to me?”

“So no one - minds?” Steve says cautiously. “I mean, not that it would change anything anyway, but, I don’t know, I just -“

“No, Cap,” Bruce interrupts before he can go off on a tangent. His smile is warm. “Nobody minds.”

They all pretend not to notice the way both Steve and Tony relax a bit at his statement. “Well, good,” Tony says, “Because I would have had to fight you if you did, and we all know I could take any one of you down in less than a minute.”

Natasha snorts. “Sure, Stark.”

“I’m serious!” Tony protests, as Natasha moves to her own sleeping bag on the opposite corner of the room. “I could totally take you, Nat, I have  _nuclear bombs!”_

“I thought you said you took those off the suit,” Steve says disapprovingly, but Tony just waves a hand, ignoring him.

“I put them back on,” he says, “But that’s not the point. Who else here thinks they could beat me in a fight?”

Every single hand in the room goes up, except for Steve’s.

Tony gapes at them. “What - you ungrateful little brats! I could so beat you in a fight! Steve, tell them, come on -“

They spend an hour arguing about who would win in a fight, almost resulting in Tony taking Sam out for a brawl in the back alley, but in the end, it doesn’t matter. Tony drifts off halfway through Clint’s argument about why he could beat any of them with the right arrows, and the rest of the room follows suit soon after.

Clint ends up in the sleeping bag closest to Tony and Steve, but he doesn’t mind too much. Just before he drifts off, he sees Steve roll so he’s tucked up against Tony’s back, one hand splayed across the arc reactor. He buries his face in Tony’s hair, sighing a little, as Tony relaxes in his arms.

Clint deliberately turns the other way. It’s sweet, but it’s not a moment for him. It’s for Steve and Tony alone.

 _Ugh,_ he thinks.  _Schmoopy._


	28. God's Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I only love my shield and my Tony, I'm sorry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff; established relationship

“Ocean blue, what  _have_ I done to you,” someone is singing in the kitchen.

Their voice is low is rich, and it only takes Tony a couple of seconds to recognize it as Steve’s. He has a lovely voice; has, according to Bucky, since even before the serum, though apparently, it was higher then.

Tony smiles to himself as he takes a detour to their bathroom. Normally he’d say hi first, but he’s particularly rank today; covered in not only motor oil but a weird slime that exploded from the middle of the alien weapon he’d been examining. Jarvis says its probably not poisonous, so he’ll be fine.

Tony showers quickly, rubbing his skin pink to get rid of the last of the gunk. Then he slips on one of Steve’s big, soft shirts, and when he makes it back out to the kitchen, Steve’s still singing.

“She said do you love me, I tell her only party,” Steve croons, turning and catching Tony’s eye. It just makes Steve smile bigger, makes his booty-wagging more exaggerated as he continues, “I only love my shield and my Tony, I’m sorry.”

Tony can’t help but burst out laughing, practically bent over with the force of it. Steve continues the song, shimmying his shoulders as he stirs whatever he’s got bubbling on the stove. “Without 40, there’d be no me, imagine if I never met the browskis?”

Tony almost manages to get it together, and then Steve starts what Tony can only imagine is the saddest attempt at twerking ever known to man, and he literally falls to his knees with laughter.

“Oh my god,” he gasps, hand pressed to his stomach, which is cramped like nothing else. “God, stop, you’re  _killing_ me -“

Steve blows him a kiss and keeps dancing.


	29. Stark Down?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ridiculously, Tony’s first thought when he feels his bone snap is, Oh, Steve’s going to be so upset.
> 
> -
> 
> commission for itsgarbagecannotgarbagecannot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship, hurt/comfort

Ridiculously, Tony’s first thought when he feels his bone snap is,  _Oh, Steve’s going to be so upset._

Not angry - Tony’s not married to an abusive man. But he’ll certainly be plenty worried, and probably fret around Tony for days, even though Tony  _thinks_ it’s just his wrist. He tries to wriggle his fingers as he pushes himself up into a sitting position, but it’s inconclusive: his whole arm is numb, and by the time he regains sensation he’s sure he won’t be able to feel anything but stinging pain.

Still, broken bones aren’t exactly foreign to Tony, so he just huffs and stumbles his way to his feet. This is why he hadn’t wanted to put stairs in their apartment - elevators were just so much easier, and less trippable. “Jarvis,” he says, and the doors slide open at his command. “Get Bruce to the medical wing, will you?”

“Oh, jeez,” Bruce says, when he sees the way Tony’s cradling his arm against his chest. “What did you do to yourself now?

He ends up insisting they go to an actual hospital to get Tony’s arm put in a cast, even though Tony says he can rig up a brace from one of the old Iron Man armors that’s just as effective. They end up in the waiting room for almost ten minutes before they’re ushered away to a private area, and in that time, Tony catches at least a dozen cameraphones trained in their direction. He tries to keep his expression pleasant, but it’s difficult when moving jostles his arm and makes the nerves burn. He can already imagine the tabloid covers the next day:  _Iron Man Down! Tony Stark Seen Close to Death in Local Emergency Room._

The technician is plenty nice, and gives him a nice blue cast that glows in the dark. It’s not quite the same shade as Tony’s arc reactor: a little bit deeper, a little less electric, almost like Steve’s eyes. That night, Tony lays out in his empty bed, arm splayed across the mattress where Steve’s body should be. The sheets feel uncharacteristically cold, the room weirdly quiet without the quiet roar of Steve’s snoring. Tony buries his face in Steve’s pillow.  _Soon._

-

Steve returns home three days later, simultaneously exhausted and annoyingly jittery. As exhausted as his body is, there’s a sharp excitement that he can’t quite suppress at the thought of seeing Tony again. It’s been almost three weeks - certainly not the longest period of time they’ve spent apart, but longer than they have since they got married. Steve has missed him.

He wants to speed all the way home on his motorcycle, but he also doesn’t want to arrive empty-handed, so he stops at a drugstore just a block down from the Tower. It’s nothing particularly fancy, but sometimes they have nice bouquets of flowers there, and as dumb as it is, Steve wants to bring Tony something nice.

He’s just paying for a bouquet of spiky orange daisies when the tabloid catches his eye. It’s the Superhuman Star, dated a few days ago; normally, Steve wouldn’t so much as glance at it, but he can’t help but see the cover photo: Tony, curled up in a hospital chair, wincing in pain.  _STARK DOWN?_ the title reads.

“Sir? Sir?” Steve realizes the cashier has called his name several times. “That’ll be 18.32.”

“Sorry, I - here, keep the change,” Steve says, tossing her a twenty and grabbing the bouquet roughly. “I just have to -“

He hurries out of the store, only considering unlocking his motorcycle for a split second before he decides it’s not worth it and starts jogging back to the Tower, flowers tucked against his chest. Why hadn’t someone told him Tony had gotten hurt? That should have been the first thing on the agenda when he got back, the very first words Hill told him after he got off radio silence, screw the debrief, screw the protocol -

He bursts into the Tower lobby at full sprint, having sped up along the way. He turns a few heads, but he pays them no mind, hurrying to the already-waiting elevator.

“Where’s Tony?” he asks Jarvis as the doors slide closed behind him.

“Sir is currently in the penthouse,” Jarvis says as the elevator starts climbing. “He is currently watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine and complaining about why they chose to set the show in an ‘inferior borough’.”

That calms Steve a little bit - surely Tony can’t be that badly hurt if he can still find the energy to bitch about Brooklyn. He has fought his way through some pretty bad shit, though, so Steve is still a little bit worried when he steps inside the penthouse.

“Tony?” he calls, before he picks up on the noise coming from their bedroom. He follows the noise, and, sure enough, there Tony is: laying back against the headboard, popcorn bowl in lap, watching Santiago and Peralta make out on screen.

He’s also got a fluorescent cast on one arm.

“Oh, honey,” Steve says, setting the flowers down on the bedside table. Tony whips his head around at the sound, and his cheeks split into a grin when he spots Steve.

“Steve!” he says, waving his one good arm out in a gesture to come closer. “You’re back!”

“What have you done to yourself?” Steve asks, taking care to be gentle in his movements so as not to jostle Tony’s wound. “Did you get called out?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Tony says. “Just lost a battle with the stairs. I’m telling you, those things are dangerous, Steve. It’s why the elevator is superior. Hey, are those flowers for me? Why are they squished?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I stopped at CVS to get them and couldn’t help but see a few magazine covers with pictures of you in the ER. I may have been a little worried.”

Tony laughs, squirming over towards Steve’s side. “That’s why you’re sweaty, isn’t it?” he says fondly. “You ran here.”

Steve brushes a hand carefully up Tony’s uninjured side, around to his back, before settling it on the nape of his neck. Tony shivers under the touch. “Well, can you blame me? You know yourself, for all I knew you blew up the lab again and were slowly bleeding out internally.”

“Pretty sure they would have put me on a stretcher for that,” Tony points out, but still ducks in to press a quick kiss to Steve’s lips. “Hi,” he murmurs, then kisses him again. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Steve says, leaning his forehead against Tony’s. “But, seriously, how did you manage to break your arm on the  _stairs?_ They’re one flight tall.”

“It’s not my fault,” Tony protests, pulling back from Steve’s grip. “You’re the one who wanted stairs, Mr. Fitness, and not all of us are ninjas with super-healing.”

“Were you on your phone?” Steve guesses, and is rewarded by a jumping muscle in Tony’s jaw. “You were on your phone.”

“Maybe,” Tony admits, “But that doesn’t change the fact that had I been in an elevator, everything would have been fine -“

“Oh, god,” Steve says, rolling his eyes, “Not this again, you cannot keep blaming me for the stairs when there is  _still an elevator for you to use_ -“

“Yes but it’s not as convenient!” Tony protests. “You’ve forced me into this, Steve, it’s a full three extra feet to the right and so, yeah, sometimes I take the stairs, but that doesn’t make this  _my_ fault, if we had gone with my original architecture plan I would never be tempted to  _walk_ and this never would have happened -“

“You are so fucking annoying,” Steve says, but he can hear the fondness in his own voice. Tony seems to be able to, too, because he stops bickering and just smiles at Steve.

“You better make me soup,” he says. “And bring me ice cream. I need calcium for my bone health. It’s your penance.”

Steve laughs. “Oh, it is, is it?”

“Yeah,” Tony confirms. His eyes are sharp, not clouded by pain or pain meds, and so very bright. Unable to help himself, Steve leans in to kiss him again.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, puling back, only to lean back in to lay another kiss on Tony’s cheek, his neck, his collarbone. “I’ll kiss it all better.”

Tony laughs, tipping back against the mattress as Steve works his way steadily downward. Steve grins against Tony’s skin and keeps going.


	30. Retired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day Steve announces his retirement as Cap, the internet breaks.
> 
> -
> 
> commission for i-the-fangirl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship, hurt/comfort

The day Steve announces his retirement as Cap, the internet breaks.

That’s what Tony says, anyway - personally, Steve thinks it’s a bit of an overstatement. Sure, he is the top-trending topic on Twitter for almost forty-eight hours, and his retirement is announced in just about every magazine, newspaper, and TV show, but nothing actually stops working.

Tony just rolls his eyes when Steve tells him this, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips. After so many years together, it feels more like a reflex than an action, something as easy and settling as breathing.

“Fox News and CNN have been speculating about who’s going to replace you for the last day and a half,” he says fondly, rubbing a thumb over Steve’s laugh lines. “You broke the internet.”

Some part of Steve feels kind of bad about it. For every news outlet that’s simply invigorated by the burst of news, there’s a kid on social media, genuinely distressed by the idea of Steve not being Cap. ‘I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS REAL LIFE, SOMEBODY HOLD ME’, one girl had posted on Twitter. The message had received over two thousand likes, and there were dozens more like it. Steve saw gifsets on Tumblr, Snapchats of kids sobbing, emotional Youtube tributes where teenagers thanked him for his service. It was touching, of course, but it also made him feel more than a little guilty.

He wishes he didn’t have to do this. He wishes he could stay on as Cap. It’s just - he’s getting old. Even a super soldier ages eventually, and over the years, Steve’s hair has grayed and his reflexes have slowed and his healing has stalled. Last time he broke his arm, it took almost two weeks to heal, over five times as long as it did in his youth. He tires, now, and doesn’t think quite as fast, and more than any of that, he just wants some more time with his husband.

Tony had retired two years previously, on the cusp of sixty-five. “Some jobs just aren’t for the elderly,” he had joked, and Steve had made sure to hold him extra tight that night, watching the familiar patterns of the arc reactor’s light play out across the ceiling.

Steve had wanted to retire as soon as Tony announced his intentions, but it wasn’t that simple. Steve and Tony were the co-leaders of the Avengers; already it was going to be difficult to adjust to Iron Man being gone, and the team just couldn’t take Captain America leaving too. So he’d stayed on, worked on training up his successors, and now it was finally the time.

Tony finds him in the kitchen almost three days after they put out the press release, scrolling through Twitter on his phone. “You’re still on that?” he says fondly, wrapping his arms around Steve from behind. Steve sighs, leaning his head back against Tony’s chest, and Tony presses a quick kiss to his temple.

“It’s just hard to stop looking,” Steve admits. “There are so many people, I didn’t - I don’t know, I guess I didn’t realize it would affect people this much.”

“Of course it would,” Tony says easily. “Steve, you’re a hero. You’re the nation’s hero. You’ve done so much for us over the years. You make kids feel safe, you make  _people_ feel safe. Of course they’re going to be upset when you retire.” Tony’s arms tighten around Steve, then, and his voice drops an octave. “But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t the right decision.”

Steve sighs. “I know. Trust me, I don’t regret it, it’s just - hard.”

“Yeah,” Tony agrees, nestling a little closer to Steve. “I get it.”

They stay in the kitchen for a while.


	31. Umbrella Height

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For all that it seems obvious, Steve realizes it suddenly, in the middle of a press conference: Tony stands up beside Steve at the podium, ready to address the army of sharp-teethed reporters, and all Steve can think is small.
> 
> -
> 
> commission for rigel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship

For all that it seems obvious, Steve realizes it suddenly, in the middle of a press conference: Tony stands up beside Steve at the podium, ready to address the army of sharp-teethed reporters, and all Steve can think is  _small._

He’s not really that small, Steve knows that objectively. He’s 5’9, about average for an American man, and he’s even pretty built in a very lithe sort of way, all slender muscles and subtle strength and -

And next to Steve, it’s all infinitesimal.

“Steve?” Tony murmurs, with a light elbow to Steve’s ribs. “Eyes up, soldier.”

Steve meets his eyes, suddenly conscious of just how far he has to tilt his gaze down to do so. “Right,” he says. “Uh, yeah, right, the press conference -“

He manages to forget it for the moment, but after that, it keeps cropping up on the edge of his consciousness. In the morning, Tony wears one of Steve’s sweaters out to the kitchen, and it flops over his fingers as he tiptoes to reach his coffee mug. Steve and Tony get caught in the rain, and Tony tucks easily into Steve’s side, the perfect height for sharing an umbrella. At night, they curl up together, back to chest, and Steve finds he’s just tall enough to envelop Tony entirely, cold toes against cold toes, his face buried in Tony’s soft curls.

As soon as he starts noticing it, he can’t stop noticing it. He kind of adores it.

Finally, Tony notices the stares. “What,” he says, when, for the third time that day, Steve cuts off mid-sentence because something about Tony has stolen his breath away. This time it’s his shoes - slipped off next to the elevator, they look tiny compared to Steve and Thor’s ridiculous flipper sizes. “Seriously, what is with you lately? You’ve been so weird.”

“I have not,” Steve denies, but Tony just raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Come on, out with it. It’s got to be something. Did I - piss you off, or something? Because, I mean, if you’re mad you can tell me -“

“No!” Steve interrupts, not wanting to hear another word of whatever Tony was about to say. “No, of course not, it’s just -“ He sighs, rubbing a hand across his rapidly heating face. “It’s stupid.”

“I promise it’s not,” Tony says, moving forward to take Steve’s free hand in his own. “Come on, sweetheart, whatever it is, you know you can tell me.”

Steve meets Tony’s eyes, catalogs his sincere expression, and sighs again. “It’s - okay, I noticed something about you a few weeks ago, and now I can’t stop noticing it. And it’s very, uh, -“

“Distracting?” Tony teases. Steve blushes a little, and Tony laughs, bringing his hands up to cup Steve’s jaw. “Aw, sweetheart. Why are you ashamed of that? Tell me what it is, I have to know. My ass? No, that’s always been fantastic - is it my new suits? Gregory said he was going to try a slightly different cut.”

“No,” Steve says. “It’s not that.” Tony waits expectantly, and reluctantly, Steve continues. “It’s, uh - your size. I just, I don’t know, there was that press conference a few weeks ago and I just realized you’re - so much smaller than me!”

Tony’s mouth falls open. “Steve Rogers,” he says, sounding scandalized. “You did  _not_ just say that to me!”

“You’re the one who said I could tell you anything!” Steve protests, as Tony takes a few steps back. “Come on, sweetheart, it’s a good thing -“

“I cannot believe you just said that,” Tony says, almost to himself. “You come into my house, and you insult  _my_ body, and you dare to call yourself my boyfriend, what is wrong with you. You’re on the couch tonight, mister, and tomorrow night too, and maybe for at least a week until I can figure out to make myself grow three inches -“

“Tony,” Steve interrupts finally, when the rant is reaching a crescendo. He loops his arms around Tony’s waist loosely, pulling with barely any force, and still Tony comes forward. Steve represses a smile. “I like it. I like having my little Tony to hold.”

Tony visibly softens. “Call me little Tony again, and you actually will be in the dog house,” he says, but allows Steve to lean in to kiss him. “Ugh. Supersoldiers. What am I going to do with you?”

Steve leans forward and kisses him again, this time a little deeper, a little more thorough. His grip slips down to Tony’s ass. “I don’t know,” Steve murmurs against Tony’s lips, “But I had a few ideas.”

“Well, big guy,” Tony says breathlessly, as Steve hoists him into the air. “Lead the way.”


	32. Sexual Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony pines over Steve even after they get together. Pepper is long-suffering.
> 
> -
> 
> commission for rigel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff

As strange as it might seem, the first time Pepper had walked in on Steve and Tony in a compromising position, she’d been thrilled. Tony had been pining over Steve for months and months, and Pepper bore the brunt of it. Not a day passed where Tony didn’t whine about how soft Steve’s lips looked, how defined Steve’s abs were, how  _kind_ Steve was. That was when Pepper knew he really had it bad - salivating over Steve’s body was one thing, but an obsession with the man itself - that was real.

So it was satisfying, not scarring, to stumble upon them tangled together on the couch, lips red and necks stained with bruises. “Ms. Potts,” Steve had stammering, heaving himself upright, but Pepper had just smiled.

“You have a meeting in two hours, Mr. Stark,” she reminded Tony, tossing a pile of papers on the coffee table. “Please sign these beforehand.”

“You got it, Ms. Potts,” Tony had smirked, and Pepper had left, content in the knowledge that Tony’s annoying whining would come to a stop.

Of course, she should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. Within a month, Tony was showing up at her office during lunch hour to blab about Steve again, only now, it was much, much worse.

“Pepper,” he groans today, slumping into a chair. “Pepper, he’s too hot. I can’t do it.”

“Erectile dysfunction is nothing to be ashamed of, Tony,” Pepper says serenely, and is rewarded by Tony’s horrified expression as he lurches up from his chair.

“What is  _wrong_ with you, that’s not what I meant! How could - how could that be what I meant?”

“I don’t know, Tony,” Pepper says, passing a piece of paper across the table for Tony to sign. He does so automatically, without a word on her part. “Just like I don’t know why you’re still in here whining about him when you’re dating him. Maybe you could explain that to me.”

Tony makes a face. “It’s just - he’s too hot. I can’t focus, Pepper. He’s the hottest man alive, have you  _seen_ those biceps, and on top of that he’s the kindest, funniest, best person ever, and he’s dating  _me._ Would you be able to focus, if it were you?”

Pepper considers for a moment. Steve’s not really her type, but still, the idea of the peak human specimen focusing all of his attention, all his care, on you -

“Stop,” Tony interrupts her train of thought. “I didn’t think this through, stop thinking of him like that.”

Pepper rolls her eyes, sliding him another contract to sign. “Get over yourself, Tony. Plenty of people who are in love come to work and do their jobs every day. You’re not special.”

“But  _how_ do they do it?” Tony whines. “I don’t understand.”

Pepper shrugs. “They fuck a lot, probably. Maybe you just need a bit more sex in your life.”

She expects Tony to agree vehemently - Tony’s certainly not one to turn down pleasure - but when she looks up, he’s blushing a very faint pink. “Tony,” she says slowly, “Have you two not fucked yet?”

“Not quite,” Tony mutters.

“You,” Pepper sighs, “Okay, that’s fine, this is just regular sexual tension. You’ll have sex when he’s ready and everything will resolve itself -“

Tony mumbles something under his breath that Pepper can’t quite make out. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I said, he’s not the reason we’re not having sex. I am.”

Pepper blinks. “You - why don’t you want to have sex with him?”

“Because he’s too good!” Tony explodes. “He’s - he’s a  _virgin,_ Pepper, what if I mess it up and I don’t make it good enough and, god, what if he regrets it, I don’t want him to regret it, that would be horrible and relationship-ruining and who knows how much internalized homophobia he has from growing up in the goddamn forties that’ll spontaneously appear halfway through fucking -“

“Okay, stop.” Trained after many years, Tony cuts off obediently, and Pepper pinches the bridge of her nose. “Tony. You’re being ridiculous. He loves you. Even if you weren’t one of the most experienced people on the planet in this - and no, I’m not repeating that, don’t ask me to - he’d still love it, because he loves  _you.”_

Tony shifts in his seat. “Unless he doesn’t.”

Pepper sighs. “You need to talk to him about this, Tony,” she says. “You’re not going to resolve this any other way. Communication, remember?”

“Fine,” Tony says, “But if this backfires, I’m blaming you.”

Two days later Pepper walks in on them in an even more compromising position; sprawled naked on the workshop couch, Tony’s head pillowed on Steve’s chest.

Pepper sighs, but she’s also relieved. She tosses a blanket over them and heads back upstairs, sure, this time, that nothing else will get in the way.

(She should have known better than that.)


	33. Sweat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gains a bit of weight, and Steve loves his new ass.
> 
> -
> 
> commission for rigel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship, vaguely nsfw

Tony’s halfway through an upgrade on the nanobot’s energy capacity when he’s literally swept off his feet.

“Woah,” Tony says, as Steve twists him in his arms so they’re face to face. “Hello, Captain.”

Steve makes a low noise Tony can’t describe as anything other than a growl, pushing Tony back against the workshop counter. “Mine,” he murmurs, finally moving in for a kiss. His lips are hot and wet and Tony sinks into the sensation, letting the rest of the world fall away.

“What’s this about,” Tony pants, when Steve finally breaks for breath. “You - oh, fuck, right there -“ Because now Steve’s sucking hickeys down the line of Tony’s throat, skating around his collarbones, and Tony’s always had a sensitive neck.

“Your ass,” Steve groans. “It looks - fucking - _edible.”_ He bites down on Tony’s collar, just a light press of teeth, as though to prove his point, and Tony moans and falls backward.

“Shit,” Tony says, as Steve works his way steadily downward. “Shit, if I had known you would have liked it this much I would have gained the weight a long time ago.”

“You look - incredible,” Steve says, “Just, so -“

The rest of his words are lost in the rush of movement, skin against skin, sweat dripping down the line of a spine.


	34. Shelter Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prequel to chapter 3; Tony goes to the animal shelter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship

“Hi, puppy,” Tony coos, scratching at the dog’s chin. It’s an energetic little pup, wagging its tail so hard it’s about to fall over. Tony thinks it’d suit Steve perfectly. “Oh, you’re such a good boy, aren’t you? Such a good boy.”

There are plenty of good dogs here, of course; this is one of the biggest rescue centers in New York City, and the largest in Brooklyn. The kennels are filled with lovely, lively pups, but this particular one caught Tony’s eye as soon as he spotted it. It just seemed so - desperate. So sweet, and so enthusiastic, and so lonely in its little concrete cage.

“This is one of our older pups,” the volunteer behind Tony says, and it just makes Tony want him more. “He’s almost a year old, been here for most of that time.”

“He’s beautiful,” Tony says, scratching around the dog’s chest and belly as it continues to wag. “You’re definitely coming home with me. Yeah, that’s right, welcome to the billionaire lifestyle, I promise you’ll love it.”

The dog licks a stripe up Tony’s palm as if in agreement, and the volunteer laughs. “That’s great to hear,” she says. “I’ve always had a soft spot for Dodger, I’m happy he’s getting such a great home.”

“Wait, what?” Tony asks, turning to face the woman. The dog doesn’t like the loss of attention and circles Tony, whining until Tony starts scratching behind his ears again. “Is his name Dodger?”

“Yes,” the volunteer says, “But don’t worry, you can rename him if you want -”

“No,” Tony says, feeling a smile spread across his cheeks as he looks back down in the dog in his arms. If he hadn’t already known, this would have decided it for him. “No, it’s perfect.”

Dodger slobbers over Tony’s seats the whole ride home, pressing his wet little nose up against the glass, and all Tony can think is that Steve is going to absolutely adore him.


	35. Kitty Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve brings home an abandoned cat. Only problem? Tony's allergic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship

“Steve?” Tony calls when he steps off the elevator. Everything looks exactly the same as it did when he left for work this morning, but something feels - off. Something in the air, maybe - yeah, that’s it. Did Steve take it upon himself to dust today? That always did upset Tony’s allergies, and he is feeling a little sniffly.

“Tony?” someone calls back from what sounds like the kitchen. “That you?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Tony says, loosening and shedding his tie and then his jacket over the back of the couch. “Did you clean today or something? I swear I need a Benadryl -”

Tony cuts himself off mid-question, having found it already answered. Because it’s not the dust that’s the problem: it’s the tiny little kitten cradled in his husband’s big, muscular arms.

“Oh, Steve,” Tony says.

“I know!” Steve says, looking sheepish. “I know, we can’t keep her, I just - I found her behind a dumpster all covered in mud, and I couldn’t just leave her there -”

Tony sighs. “Okay,” he says, “I understand. One night, okay? Then you’re going to have to find someone to give her away to, because it will probably literally kill me to keep a cat in this house, as cute as she is -”

“Deal,” Steve agrees hastily, “Of course I knew we couldn’t keep her - I set some allergy pills out for you on the counter, by the way, and I haven’t gone into the master bedroom since I picked her up so I can just sleep in the guest room tonight so you don’t suffocate -”

“Okay,” Tony interrupts. He wants to give Steve a kiss but he knows if he gets that close he’ll probably break out in hives. “I’m heading to our room to shower and chug medicine. Can I trust when I see you tomorrow the cat will be gone?”

Steve nods quickly. “Cross my heart.”

“Okay,” Tony says. “I love you.”

Steve’s smile is small and warm. “Love you, too. Goodnight.”

Tony blows him a kiss and sets off for the bedroom.


	36. Suck & Lick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't suck a dick, lick a national treasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, get together, mentions of mental illness

Tony wakes up tired.

It seems like there’s little time when he’s not tired, these days. In many ways, a good sort of exhaustion - the exhaustion of hard exertion, the exhaustion of a fine day’s work put behind you - but ceaseless in a way it shouldn’t be. The trouble isn’t anything in particular, it’s everything. It’s the three jobs Tony is working - Avenger, Head of R&D at Stark Industries, and a part-time gig consulting for SHIELD on the side. Not even to mention all the time he spends on the Avengers gear - upgrading Clint’s bow, increasing the efficiency of Nat’s tasers, working on polymers more durable for Steve and more elastic for Bruce. It feels endless, sometimes.

And Tony’s secret crush on Steve isn’t helping anything. It just makes everything a little worse, because every time he starts thinking,  _oh, this isn’t too bad,_ Steve will do something stupid like yell at him, or worse,  _smile_ at him, and then Tony’s deep down in the hole.

He drags himself to the coffee machine with only a cursory glance around the kitchen. It’s empty. He expected that; it’s late, at least for the rest of the team’s standards, considering all of them are trained early risers.

“Jarvis,” Tony mumbles, but he doesn’t need to, because when he reaches the coffee pot it’s already filled with steaming nectar. “You’re a god,” Tony sighs, only barely restraining the urge to chug from the pot directly.

“In fact, that distinction belongs to Thor,” Jarvis says.

“Haha,” Tony rolls his eyes, taking another glug of his coffee. “What’s on the agenda today, Jay?”

“I could read you the list,” Jarvis says, “Though I think I’d prefer to direct your attention to your seat at the kitchen table.”

Tony turns. Sitting where his plate would rest is an opaque plastic bag, filled with something Tony can’t identify. “What’s this?”

“Captain Rogers left it for you this morning. I believe he picked it up on his run.”

Tony barks out a laugh when he sees what’s inside the package. “Where the hell did you get this,” he mutters to himself. It’s just a sticker, but it’s possibly the most outrageous sticker Tony’s ever seen. It features Steve, and attached to him at all sides are disembodied cartoon tongues.  _Don’t suck a dick,_ the slogan reads.  _Lick a national treasure._

On the back of the sticker is a post-it note featuring Steve’s characteristic handwriting.  _Sorry you’ve been having a shitty time. Hope today is better. xx_

Tony feels like his heart is spasming in his chest. “Did he say anything else?”

“No, sir. He only asked that I ensure you received it.”

Tony considers the note. It must mean something, mustn’t it? Xs mean kisses, and Steve wouldn’t - why would he -

“Jarvis,” Tony says, before he loses the nerve, “Send Steve a message from me. Ask him - ask him if he would like to have dinner with me. As a, you know. As a date.”

“Of course, sir,” Jarvis says, and Tony doesn’t think he’s imagining the approving tone. “I’ll ask him immediately.”

Tony waits at the table and fidgets. He tries to drink his coffee, but it just tastes stale in his throat.

“Captain Rogers says,” Jarvis says finally, “That he would be thrilled to accept your offer. Is there a particular time you would like to pick him up?”

“Seven,” Tony says faintly, unable to believe his luck. Is he dreaming? “Tell him to wear a suit.”

“Noted, sir,” Jarvis says a moment later. “Captain Rogers will see you in the common room at seven.”

Tony grins so much that his coffee slops over his face when he drinks it. He doesn’t even care; all he can think about is what he’s going to do tonight. Today is a very good day.


	37. What We Do With Fedoras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vampires don't know how to dress fashionably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship, Vampire!Tony/Vampire!Steve

“I’m pretty sure that went out of fashion a few decades ago,” Tony says when he sees what Steve is wearing.

Steve frowns, glancing up to where Tony is leaning in the closet door frame. “Really, you don’t like it?”

Steve had thought he looked rather spiffy. Yes, technically, he  _did_ buy the suspenders a few months before the Stock Market Crash of 1929, but they look pretty good on him, if he does say so himself. They’re made of a nice silky material, and they’re a deep blue that nicely accents his eyes. And it’s not like they’re  _totally_ out of style - right?

Tony shrugs, mouth curled in a little smile. “I didn’t say that,” he says. “You always look handsome, and the other patrons might be able to look past the suspenders. Just not, you know, not the fedora.”

Steve smiles ruefully, popping the hat off his head and ruffling his now-mussed hair. “Six hundred years I’ve been a vampire and still I can’t manage to keep up with the fashion trends.”

Tony’s grin widens, and he pushes himself off the wall, slinking towards Steve. He splays one hand on Steve’s chest over his long-dead heart, the other cupping Steve’s jaw. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs, leaning in close. “You’ve got me to teach you.”


	38. Blush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's dick is going to kill him. And embarrass him. And also Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, get-together

“Bucky,” Steve groans, slumping face-first onto the couch. “I can’t do it anymore, he’s too hot. I quit.”

Bucky whacks him with a pillow and, reluctantly, Steve rolls over onto his back so he can peek at Bucky out of the corner of his eye. “What did he do now.”

“He took off his  _shirt,”_ Steve whines. “While he was  _working._ He looks like something straight out of a porno, Buck, I don’t know how I’m supposed to go on.”

“Rub one out,” Bucky suggests, then dodges as Steve reaches out to smack him.

“Bucky!” Steve chides. “That’s - no, that’s inappropriate, I’m not going to -  _do that_ while I think about him, that’s an invasion of his - his - privacy, and trust -”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Steve. Yesterday he saw you getting out of the pool and almost broke his nose on the pavement. I guarantee he would have no problem with you thinking sexy things about you.”

“No,” Steve says resolutely, “No, that’s not the point. I’ll just have to - figure something else out I guess.”

Bucky snorts. “Sure, don’t think about the elephant, because that always works. All I’m saying is, move it or lose it, buddy. Ask him out, kiss him, tell him you want to fuck - whatever. It worked for me and Nat, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, well,” Steve mutters. “That’s you and Nat. It’s different. Don’t worry about it.”

He heaves himself to his feet and heads for the door. Maybe he can make something for Tony for an afternoon snack - a sandwich, maybe, or some of that homemade hummus he likes so much. He’s wrapped up enough in his own thoughts that he doesn’t hear the patter of bare feet in the hallway, scurrying back towards the workshop before anyone can see.

-

Things get weird after that.

Steve makes a grilled cheese for Tony and brings it down to the lab, but Tony barely acknowledges Steve, keeping his gaze resolutely locked on the tablet in his hand. Steve just assumes he’s really wrapped up in his work and leaves the plate at his elbow, but it keeps happening. Tony comes up for breakfast and eats in uncharacteristic quiet, biting at his lip every time he meets Steve’s eyes. At team movie night, Tony doesn’t sit at his usual spot next to Steve, and when a sex scene comes up, he actually  _blushes_ instead of making his usual wry commentary. At the next gala they go to, Steve tells Tony he likes his suit, and Tony goes positively pink.

Finally, it gets to the point where Steve can’t ignore it anymore. It’s just a regular Saturday morning, and Tony’s wandered into the kitchen where Steve is making pancakes. “Hey, Cap,” Tony says, and Steve hums out a greeting, turning to press a mug of hot coffee into Tony’s hands. Their fingers brush over the handle, and Tony actually shivers, ears going red.

“Okay,” Steve says, stepping back. “What is going on, here? Am I making you uncomfortable or something?”

“What - what are you talking about?” Tony asks unconvincingly. “Nothing’s wrong, everything’s good, we’re good.”

“Then why do you keep acting so weird around me?” Steve demands. “All the - shivering, and blushing, and shyness. It’s not like you, Tony, and I’m - I’m worried. You can tell me, Tony, whatever it is I’ll try to do better, or I won’t be mad, I just - I miss hanging out with you. You’re one of my best friends.”

“It’s - oh, fuck it,” Tony says with a sigh. “I heard you and Bucky talking a couple weeks ago. You - uh, you were talking about how - attractive, you find me.”

Steve’s eyes go wide, and he feels his own face heat. “Oh, shit,” he says. “Tony, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, or be - predatory, or anything -”

“No,” Tony interrupts, shaking his head, “No, Steve, do you really think its that? Honestly, look at yourself, you’re the literal peak of human perfection, of course -” He breaks off with a huff. “The issue isn’t that I’m not interested, Steve. The issue is I am.”

Steve swallows hard against the suddenly burgeoning hope in his throat. “You - you’re interested in me? But that’s - that’s great, Tony, that means -”

Tony shakes his head again. “But it’s not,” he says. “It’s not, because you want to - to fuck, and while that would be great and all, I’m interested in more than that. I don’t think I can just do that, a friends with benefits kind of thing -”

“Tony!” Steve interrupts hastily. “Tony, shit, you don’t understand. I don’t just want a physical relationship. I want -” He takes a breath, settling his hands on Tony’s shoulders. “I want to date you, Tony. I’d like to be in a relationship with you.”

Steve can feel Tony’s heartbeat picking up under his palms. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve confirms, and without waiting a moment longer, leans in to kiss him. He tastes like coffee and home; Steve tightens his grip.


	39. Long-Distance Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By the time Steve gets home from his mission, he wants nothing more than the cuddle up next to Tony in bed. Unfortunately, given that his husband is in Japan for a business trip, that won't be possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship

By the time Steve gets home from his mission, he’s hungry, grumpy, and bone-tired. He wants nothing more than to take a hot shower and crawl into bed next to Tony, cuddling up against his husband until the sheer proximity forces his muscles to relax and his mind to quiet.

That’s not an option, though, not tonight. Steve’s mission ran two days late, and now Tony is already gone to Japan for a business trip. It’s only four days long, but combined with Steve’s absence, it’s enough to make Steve’s heart ache for him.

“Jarvis,” Steve says, when he stumbles into their bedroom, shedding bits of his clothes every which way. “What’s Tony doing right now?”

If Tony is at his hotel or waiting around between appointments, Steve could give him a call. Unfortunately, Jarvis says, “Sir is currently at a lunch meeting with potential investors. He should be free in approximately two hours. Would you like me to leave him a message?

Steve sighs. Two hours - no way he’s going to stay up for two hours. “No,” he says, “That’s fine, I wouldn’t want to bother him. Just send him a text from me, will you? Notify him when the meeting’s over. Just tell him I got home safe from my trip, and everything went well. And I love him, and I miss him. And add a heart emoji in there, the one I always use.”

“Sent, Captain Rogers,” Jarvis says, hardly a split second later. “Shall I start the shower, or are you heading straight to bed?”

The idea of a shower is tempting, but right now, Steve’s limbs feel so heavy he can’t muster the energy to move. “Bed,” he decides. “Wake me up in like eight hours, okay?” he tells Jarvis. “If I’m still sleeping. I want to call Tony before he goes to bed.”

“Very good, Captain,” Jarvis agrees. “Actually, Mr. Stark has a message for you right now. A response to your text.”

“Jarvis,” Steve groans as he flops down onto the mattress. “I thought I told you not to bother him.”

“I did not. Sir was on his phone by himself. He seems quite bored with the meeting and, if I might say, he also seems to be missing you.”

Despite himself, Steve’s feels his lips tug into something like a smile. “Okay,” he says, “What did he send?”

In lieu of a response, Jarvis projects a hologram in front of Steve. It’s a phone screen, showing the message from Tony.  _Love you too babydoll,_ it reads, followed by a winking smiley face.  _Can’t wait to see you._ Accompanying the text is a gif: one of those moving pictures Tony created on the StarkPhone, one of Steve and Tony in the living room. It’s a selfie Tony took, and shows him leaning in to press a smacking kiss to a grinning Steve’s cheeks. They’re both flushed pink, like they’ve been laughing; Steve remembers that afternoon. It had been a rainy day, and their plans to go to the park had been foiled. Instead, they’d made a fort in front of the TV and binge-watched cult comedies all afternoon, eating popcorn with melting Junior Mints and exchanging slow kisses during the lulls. It was a great day - one of Steve’s absolute favorite memories.

Steve smiles just at the thought of it. He waves the hologram away and settles down into his blankets. Suddenly, his chest feels a lot less tight.

“Jarvis,” Steve says. “Lights.”


	40. Bambi Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four-year-old Tony is a lot shyer than the Avengers were expecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship, de-aging

Iron Man goes down in a spray of asphalt on 37th Street.

“Iron Man?” Steve barks into the comm when he hears the horrible wrenching of metal. “Tony, are you there?” He only listens to the staticky silence a moment longer before he starts running.

“I’ve got eyes on him, Cap,” Hawkeye says, voice tight. “It doesn’t look good.” Steve picks up the pace.

 _It wasn’t even supposed to be a hard fight,_ Steve can’t help but think, brushing past pedestrians and police alike.  _This was supposed to be easy. This should have been easy._

Sure, it was Loki, who could be more than a little annoying at the best of times, but Thor was here, and the Avengers were stronger than ever before. Nobody had been too alarmed when SHIELD had filled them in on the situation; after all, surely the worst that could happen was some property damage, maybe a few minor injuries, not -

Steve skids to a stop beside Tony’s prone form. The suit is scraped and dented like it went a few rounds with a garbage compactor. Steve falls to his knees and flips Tony over, twisting the emergency releases to disengage the face plate from the rest of the suit. He yanks it off, expecting blood and bruises and bone, and instead finds -

A child’s sleeping face. They have a scrape on their chin, and curly black hair astray at all angles, but otherwise seem very peaceful. As Steve watches, they slowly blink their eyes open. They’re big and brown, Bambi eyes.

 _Oh, god,_ Steve thinks, falling back onto his heels.

Tony coughs. “Where am I?” he asks, voice high and thready. “Where’s Jarvis?”

 _Jesus,_ Steve thinks. What the hell is he supposed to do now?

-

They end up back at the Tower.

Tony had been uncharacteristically quiet the whole way home, or what Steve can only assume is uncharacteristically quiet; he’d gone still when he’d recognized Steve bending over him, and had refused to speak to anyone until Bruce had shown up. He was recently de-Hulked, dirty and ragged-looking, but something about that must have calmed Tony because he had let Bruce scoop him up into his arms. “Are you hurt?” Bruce had asked, and Tony had shaken his head against Bruce’s shoulder.

Steve wasn’t offended, but he wasn’t really sure what he  _was_. Tony is his husband, and now he’s a child, a delicate child with small fingers and big eyes and this horrible sad expression, and this - this is not a situation Steve was ever prepared to face.

“Well, looks like you are doing just fine,” Bruce says finally, after having examined Tony carefully in the little makeshift hospital in the basement of the Tower. “You feeling okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Tony says in a tiny voice, looking down at his feet. “Thank you for the bandage, sir.”

Bruce had given Tony a little band-aid for the cut on his chin - it was Captain America patterned. Tony’s eyes had widened when he saw it, and he sat very, very still while Bruce placed it on him.

“Oh, you’re welcome,” Bruce says with a smile. “In fact, you’ve been so good, I think you deserve a treat. Don’t you agree, Steve?”

Tony stiffens a little bit at the reminder that Steve is still in the room, and Steve forces on a smile. “Of course,” he says, and pretends not to notice the way Tony relaxes just slightly. “Tony’s been a very good boy.”

“Thank you, sir,” Tony almost whispers, still not meeting either of their gazes.

“You know, you don’t have to call us ‘sir’, Tony,” Bruce says gently.

Tony shakes his head, looking down at his knobby knees. “But then what would I call you?”

“How about Bruce? That’s what Steve here calls me.”

Tony’s gaze flickers over to Steve, hummingbird fast, before it lands back on Bruce. “But that’s because he’s Captain America.”

Bruce smiles a small smile. “He’s also my friend. I call him Steve. Why don’t you call us by our first names?”

Tony swallows hard, then, almost carefully, nods slowly. “Okay, Bruce,” he murmurs, and Bruce breaks out into a genuine smile.

“Great,” he says. “Okay, so, treats. I don’t have any lollipops, unfortunately, but I happen to know we have some of your favorite ice cream upstairs -“

Steve trails after the two as they head up to the common area, feeling rather useless. More than useless, really - he’s an active hindrance. Every time he thinks Tony’s loosening up, every time Steve thinks he’s getting more comfortable, their eyes meet or Steve’s fingers brush against Tony’s back or something else reminds Tony that Steve’s there, and he tenses up all over again.

Bruce stays through ice cream, squirting whipped cream straight into Tony’s mouth and even helping him wipe the chocolate smudges off his cheeks and fingers. “You feeling sleepy?” Bruce asks eventually, when Tony’s blinks start to slow.

Tony jolts a little in his seat. “No, sir,” he says. “I’m just fine.”

“Bruce,” Bruce reminds Tony gently. “And there’s nothing wrong with being tired. Cap here looks like he could use a nap himself.”

Bruce shoots Steve a look when Tony glances away, and Steve nods quickly. “Oh, yeah,” he agrees, giving an exaggerated yawn. “I’m very tired.”

Tony bites his lip. “My dad says I’m too old to take naps, but he likes Captain Rogers so maybe if he says it’s okay…”

“Of course it’s okay,” Bruce assures him. “Right, Steve?”

“Right,” Steve adds hastily. “Your dad won’t get mad at you for this, don’t worry about that.”

“Okay,” Tony says quietly. “But I don’t have any pajamas with me. Jarvis says I can’t sleep unless I’m wearing pajamas.”

“That’s okay, we’ll find you something,” Steve says. “You want to come with me?”

Tony hesitates visibly, looking back and forth between Bruce and Steve’s outstretched hand. “It’s all right, Tony,” Bruce assures him. “Steve’ll take good care of you.”

Finally, Tony takes the tiny step forward to place his little hand in Steve’s.

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve says, smiling warmly. “We’re just going to the bedroom, okay?”

Tony nods and follows obediently along as Steve leads him to their shared room. Stepping inside feels strange - everything in the room is exactly as they had left it, except for Steve’s husband, who’s now a toddler beside him.

“Okay, I’m just gonna put you up on the hand,” Steve warns Tony, before giving him a boost. He sorts through the closet a while before he manages to find a shirt that Tony won’t absolutely swim in - an old crop-top of Tony’s he only breaks out when he’s really trying to make Steve salivate. Of course, on little Tony it’s still a nightgown, dropping all the way to his knees, but Steve thinks it will suffice at least for now - at least until they can figure out how to get this reversed.

“Do you need anything to sleep, Tony?” Steve asks after a moment, when Tony just sits there, fingering the hem of his shirt. “I, uh, I can leave a light on, for a nightlight, if you’d like.”

Tony’s head darts up. “Dad says I shouldn't need a nightlight anymore. Night lights are for babies.”

Steve settles on the edge of the mattress. “I think your dad might be a little confused, Tony. Actually, I have a night light I sleep with every night. It helps chase bad dreams away.” That’s true: there’s nothing more comforting than waking up to the soft light of Tony’s arc reactor, the proof that his husband is here and well and alive. “You wouldn’t call me a baby, would you, Tony?”

Tony shakes his head vigorously. “No, sir.”

“Hey,” Steve says, gently, settling his hand carefully on Tony’s back. Tony stiffens under the touch, but Steve waits a moment and slowly he starts to relax. “It’s okay, I’m not mad at you, Tony. It was just a question. But we’re agreed that having a night light doesn’t make me a baby, so it doesn’t make you one either. So do you want a night light, Tony? Either way is perfectly fine.”

Tony nibbles on his bottom lip for a moment before he gives a quick, harsh nod. “Okay,” Steve says, rubbing his thumb on Tony’s shoulder. “Okay, no problem. I’ll have J- I’ll set it up. Do you need to go to the bathroom before you go to sleep?”

Tony shakes his head and Steve nods. “Okay,” he says. “How about you get under these covers, then? I’ll get the lights all set up and then you can go to sleep.”

Tony obeys easily, tucking himself under the heavy blanket of their bed, his form so little in the dip of the mattress his grown-up self usually occupies. Steve steps into the bathroom to ask Jarvis to put on nightlight protocol - the same one he uses when Tony is away, the one that activates little lights by the floorboards that glow a pale blue - before heading back into the room and flicking the lights off. Steve’s eyes only take a split second to adjust to the darkness, but he still moves towards the bed carefully, projecting his movements.

“Hey, Tony,” he says, watching Tony stiffen. “Is it okay with you if I sleep here, tonight? I can sleep on the floor if you’d like.”

“No,” Tony says, little voice cracking. “No, it’s okay. You can sleep in the bed, Captain.”

“Okay,” Steve says softly. “Thank you, Tony.”

He crawls into bed beside Tony, hearing his rough little breaths in the darkness. After a while, they grow steady and slow, until he starts making wheezing little snoring noises and Steve is sure he’s asleep.

Still, Steve takes a while longer to drift off, and even then, it’s with the twisted feeling in his chest that something isn’t quite right.

-

He wakes up to the sound of someone sniffling.

The first thing he realizes when he opens his eyes is that it’s still dark. The room is lit only by the blue reactor glow, and as Steve blinks he realizes that the other side of the bed is empty. Tony is - where is Tony?

“I’m sorry,”a little voice says, and Steve turns wildly to find Tony standing at the side of the bed. He’s got his head bowed and his hands bunched up in little fists by his side. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“Didn’t mean to do what, Tony?” Steve asks, but he already knows. Now that he’s thinking about something other than where the hell Tony is, he can smell it - the sharp sting of urine.

“I wet the bed,” Tony says, voice painfully quiet. “I’m sorry, sir, I’m so sorry, I promise I didn’t mean to.”

“Hey,” Steve says, laying a hand on Tony’s shoulder, but apparently that was the wrong thing to do because Tony goes stiff as a floorboard under his touch. “Hey, it’s okay, Tony. Accidents happen. It’s not a big deal.”

“I ruined your bed,” Tony says miserably, finally glancing up at Steve. Even in the darkness, Steve can tell that his eyes are puffy and wet. “I’m so sorry, sir, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve says again. “Hey, Tony, really, it doesn’t matter. I’ll just throw the sheets in the wash and it’ll be good as new!”

“Really?” Tony sniffs.

No, not really - he’ll probably need to get the whole mattress deep cleaned - but Steve nods anyway. “Really,” he says. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. You want a bath?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay, good. Let’s go on into the bathroom, then, get you out of those clothes -“

The tub is already running when they make it inside, the perfect combination of warm and cold water, Steve is sure, and Tony gapes at the tap. “Did you do that?” he demands, turning to Steve. “I mean - sorry, sir, I mean -“

“Jay did that,” Steve interrupts gently. “Jay is kind of like a - robot. In the house. Jay, wanna say hi?”

“Hello, sir,” Jarvis says demurely, and Tony startles. “And hello, Mister Stark.”

Tony actually giggles, cheeks pinking up and eyes crinkling. “I’m just Tony,” he says.

“You will always be Mister Stark to me, sir.”

Tony giggles again, turning to Steve. “Is he an AI?” he asks. “He sounds like an AI.”

Right. Of course Tony would know what that is - he is a child prodigy, after all. “Yeah,” Steve says. “He’s an AI. A really smart person made him.”

“Was it my dad?” Tony asks. “I bet it was my dad.”

“No, actually,” Steve says. “It was someone else entirely. They beat your dad to it.”

Tony’s eyes widen. “Awesome,” he breathes.

Steve laughs, crouching down on the floor beside Tony. “I’m glad you like it,” he says. “Now that bath’s looking about full, do you wanna take your shirt off for me?”

Tony struggles with it for a second, but Steve lets him wriggle his way free on his own. He tosses the shirt in the sink, stoppering it and filling it with cold water to try to see if he can keep it from staining. Then he picks Tony up and helps him into the bath.

The water is the perfect temperature, warm without being too hot for delicate baby skin, and Tony sinks into it easily. “When’s the last time you had a bath?” Steve asks, and Tony shrugs.

“Yesterday morning, I think,” he says. “Jarvis gives me a bath before lessons, but today is Saturday so it’s not supposed to be until nighttime.”

Steve nods, reaching for the shampoo behind Tony’s head. “In that case, we better get you squeaky clean.”

He cleans Tony up quick enough but lets him linger in the bath a while, playing with the bubbles. The clock in the corner says it’s nearing three in the morning, but they had drifted off together around nine, and Steve thinks a little midnight adventure is okay as long as they go to sleep afterward. Tony draws numbers in the bubbles from the soap Steve pours in the water, and allows Steve to shape a careful goatee over his tiny little chin. It’s possibly the cutest thing ever, and Steve has Jarvis take a photo and send it directly to his private server.

Eventually, Tony’s fingers start to prune, so Steve pulls him out of the bath and rubs him dry with one of their softest, warmest towels. He leaves him like that, bundled up like a little burrito, on the top of the duvet while he searches through his things until he finally finds an old t-shirt of his that he shrunk in the wash last year. It’s also too big on Tony, but not so large it keeps him from walking.

“Okay,” Steve says finally, hands on his hips. “Time for bed again, Mister.”

Tony’s eyes are wide and brown like Bambi’s. “I thought we already had bedtime, sir?”

“And now we’re having bedtime again. Up you go.”

Steve scoops Tony into his arms with a huff, settling him on his hip. “Into the guest room for us.”

Tony bites his lip, glancing back over his shoulder at the bed. “I did ruin it, didn’t I?”

“No,” Steve assures him. “No, I’m just going to get it cleaned in the morning.”

Tony nods, but he still looks a little worried. “Here,” Steve says, as they step into the guest room. “How about this. I’ll lay out some towels under you, just in case you have another accident. Then you don’t have to worry about it, okay?”

Tony nods. “Okay.”

So Steve makes him a little nest of towels and blankets and tucks Tony in right up to his chin. “Feeling sleepy?”

“Not really,” Tony says, but he’s already drifting off, big black eyelashes blinking slow shadows over his cheeks. “Thank you, Captain,” he manages, and then he’s out, and Steve is left staring down at his tiny little form.

Steve slides in bed beside him again, but this time, instead of keeping his distance, he settles a hand on Tony’s back. He rubs careful slow circles, and after a time, the soothing movement sends Steve to sleep as well.

-

The next morning, Steve wakes up to his husband - his fully-grown, fully-adult husband - in bed next to him.

“Ugh,” Tony groans, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Why do I feel like I have a hangover?”

“Tony?” Steve says carefully, blinking hard, once, twice, as though to wipe away the illusion. “Hey, is that really you?”

“Yeah? Why is that - oh, shit.” Tony makes a face, flopping back against the pillows. “Oh, shit. Please tell me I was  _not_ actually turned into a five-year-old yesterday.”

“You weren’t,” Steve says easily. “You were four.”

Tony groans. “Oh, god. Please tell me I didn’t wet the bed.” Steve stays silent. “Oh, God, I  _wet the bed?_ That’s an incredible bed, those sheets had a thread count that was off the charts, and now I have to  _replace_ it because baby me hadn’t developed bladder control yet -“

“Hey,” Steve interrupts, sharper than perhaps he needs to be. “It wasn’t his fault. Your fault. Whatever.”

Tony sighs but doesn’t argue. “Jarvis, order a new one, will you? Get a couple of the armors up to clear this one out.”

“Done, sir,” Jarvis says smoothly. “What would you like me to do with the video footage of yesterday evening?”

“Delete it,” Tony says, at the exact same time Steve says, “Save it.”

Tony makes a face. “Delete it,” he says again.

“Save it,” Steve tells Jarvis, “Override Code: Charlie Echo Alpha Echo 8976.”

“That’s for emergencies!” Tony protests. “Captain America, what has become of you, abusing your power in this way?”

Steve rolls his eyes and tugs Tony towards his chest. Suddenly, he’s reminded of the fact that he put baby Tony to sleep last night in nothing but one of Steve’s shrunken t-shirts, because the Tony pressed up against him now is scantily clad enough that it makes Steve’s mouth water.

“I don’t know,” Steve murmurs, brushing his nose along Tony’s cheekbone. “I guess you’ve corrupted me.”

Tony’s breath stutters as Steve presses a wet kiss on his jaw, by his ear. “Oh,” Tony sighs, tilting his head back to give Steve better access. “That’s - hmm, very unfortunate, we’ll have to - ah - break you of that habit, maybe I should punish you -“

Steve interrupts him with a searing kiss. When Steve leans back, they’re both breathing hard, cheeks dusted red. “No,” he murmurs. “No, I think it’s your fault.  _I_  should be punishing  _you_.”

“Well,” Tony says breathily. “If you insist.”


	41. Socked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The adoption agency turned us down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship

“It’s my fault,” Tony says dully.

He’s sitting on the couch, a stack of papers in his hand. Steve closes the door carefully, kicking off his shoes and slowly rounding the corner into the darkened room. There’s a glass of seltzer water on the table; Tony wants a drink.

“What’s your fault?” Steve asks.

Tony huffs, a jagged sound, and waves the papers in the air. His hands are shaking. “The adoption agency turned us down.”

Steve feels something drop out of his chest.

“It was, ah - my alcoholism. Past alcoholism. Couldn’t risk it.”

“You don’t know that,” Steve says numbly, even as he runs through the other possibilities. Was it their lifestyle? Was it their jobs as superheroes, was it their sexuality? Was it how busy they were, was it how often they were in danger, was it just that they weren’t good enough people?

Tony snorts, shakes his head. “They’ve approved other people in dangerous situations,” he says. “I doubt they approve alcoholics.”

“Stop,” Steve almost snaps. “Jesus, just -“ He sighs, dropping down onto the couch text to Tony. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll be okay.”

Tony just shakes his head. It’s hard to tell in the darkness, but Steve can just make out the glint of tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice rough. “I’m so sorry. I wanted to give you a baby.”

Steve doesn’t say it’s okay, because it isn’t okay. He and Tony wanted to have a family: wanted to have a kid to teach and raise and love, wanted to expand their family to include one more. Wanted a high chair at the kitchen table, baby socks kicking from the couch, toys strewn over every available surface.

“It’s not your fault,” Steve says, wrapping an arm around Tony’s shoulders. Tony almost falls into him, tucking his face up against Steve’s neck. “And even if it was, I would forgive you.”

Steve feels the way Tony’s breath hitches, the warm wetness against his neck, and has to press his own eyes closed against a wave of tears.

“We’ll be okay,” he manages, tightening his grip around Tony’s shoulders. This isn’t what they wanted, not at all, but it’s what they need: each other. No matter what, Steve still has Tony. “We’re going to be fine.”

The rejection letter is a bold white in the darkness. Carefully, Steve pries it from Tony’s grip and sets it on the coffee table. Then he closes his eyes and buries his face in Tony’s hair. He doesn’t need to look at that tonight.


	42. Depression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think I’m sick,” Tony says

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst, mental illness, established relationship

“I think I’m sick,” Tony says. It’s the first words he’s spoken to Steve in over a week, but it feels right.

The background sound of rustling papers pauses. “Yeah?” Steve asks cautiously.

Tony nods. Outside the window, the city is cold and grey, like clouds have frozen over the city. The snow had melted just two days ago, leaving behind half-melted ice rubble; maybe, if the city was still white, Tony would think it was gorgeous, but right now all he can think about is throwing himself off the balcony and never coming back up.

“Yeah,” Tony says. “I - I think it’s gotten bad again. I think you were right.”

Steve sighs. “Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea how good that is to hear.”

Tony doesn’t; right now, he doesn’t really feel like he can ever know that anything is ‘good to hear’. Sometime, he doesn’t know when, but sometime he stopped feeling things like a normal human and fell back to the dark days before Afghanistan and vibranium and Steve. Now, all he can feel is tired.

“I’ll have Jarvis make you an appointment,” Steve continues. “Is your old therapist okay?”

Tony hums. His breath is starting to fog up the glass, and he reaches out a hand as though to grasp at the city. The window is cold against his palm, sending tingles up his spine.

“We’ll figure this out,” Steve says, from right behind Tony, and settles his hand, heavy and warm, on Tony’s shoulder. Tony sways back into it, just the slightest bit, and closes his eyes. He lets himself hope.


	43. Red Car, Blue Car

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Uh,” Tony says. “Uh. Is this not my car?”
> 
> “No,” Hot Guy says, a smile curling around the corners of his shiny, pink lips. “It’s my car.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, get-together, au

Tony’s been trying to get his car door open for five fucking minutes when someone clears their throat behind him.

“Sorry,” Tony says, jiggling his key in the lock one more time. What is  _wrong_ with this damn thing? “Do you need the space? My door is just jammed or something -“

“Pretty sure that’s not your door,” the person says, and their voice is deep and milky and oh,  _hello there,_ Adonis - the guy who owns it is tall and muscly, a blue-eyed blonde, like someone plucked him out of a Gucci ad. Tony hears alarm bells going off in his head.

“Uh,” Tony says. “Uh. Is this not my car?”

“No,” Hot Guy says, a smile curling around the corners of his shiny, pink lips. “It’s  _my_ car.”

Tony glances back down, and, sure enough, the car’s not his; it’s a blue pickup, and Tony’s looking for a red sedan. How the hell did he do that? He sighs and closes his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m just - ridiculously tired, I haven’t slept in, like, three days - I was revolutionizing the face of engineering, it was a bit busy - so I, you know, can’t tell cars apart. Apparently.”

“Seems like someone who can revolutionize the face of engineering could tell a Nissan from an Audi,” Hot Guy points out.

“Yeah, you’d think, wouldn’t you? Anyway, sorry again, I’ll just -“

But just as he’s turning to go, Hot Guy catches his arm in a gentle grasp. “If you’re too tired to tell cars apart, you’re probably too tired to drive.”

“Fuck.” Sometimes Tony hates his own eccentricities. “You’re right. I’ll have to call my assistant, she -“

“I could give you a ride?” Hot Guy interrupts. “You know. If you want.”

Tony blinks. He might be hallucinating this - a male model offering to give him a ride home out of the goodness of his heart? Clearly, this is either a fantasy or an attempted kidnapping, but Tony’s too tired to fight back if it’s the latter so he finds himself nodding.

“Where do you want me?” he asks, and it actually takes his exhausted brain a minute to catch up with his own innuendo. He’s not sure if he should be depressed or proud about the fact that even halfway to REM sleep, hitting on godlike models is pure instinct.

Hot Guy laughs, cheeks going a little pink, and, oh god, he’s the shy type - that’s even cuter. “In the passenger seat, for now,” he says, stepping forward with his own key to open the door. He pulls it open and holds it for Tony, like an old Southern gentleman. “But hey, maybe after you’ve slept a few hours, we could get a drink?”

Tony can’t stop his grin. “Oh, I really hope you’re not a serial killer,” he says, hopping in the truck, and is rewarded with the sound of Hot Guy’s laugh.

Yeah. This better not be a dream.


	44. Bring It Back to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not ready to live without you,” Steve sobs, and Tony’s breaths still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> established relationship, angst with a happy ending, graphic depictions of violence, NO PERMANENT DEATH, i will never write permanent death

Tony doesn’t make a sound when he goes down. Not a gasp, or a cry, or a whimper. Nothing. Steve doesn’t even realize Tony’s hurt until Jarvis’s voice is in his ear, as frantic as an AI can get:  _Sir is down. Immediate assistance required._

Steve sprints to the location Jarvis gives him, only to find his worst fears confirmed. Tony is laying spread-eagled across the pavement, one arm at an odd angle, a jagged piece of rusted metal rebar sticking out from the belly of his suit. His face is pale and gray and the pool of blood around him is staggering. Steve has never seen him this hurt.

“Oh, god,” Steve says, the words falling out of his mouth as he falls to his knees beside Tony. “Tony, I - medic, we need a medic, where’s a - Tony, hey, Tony, look at me.”

It takes a minute, but finally, Tony’s eyes meet his, and Steve could swear something in his expression relaxes. “Hey,” Steve demands, cupping Tony’s jaw in his hands. “Hey, Tony, stay with me, you’re gonna be okay, you hear me? You’re going to - oh, god, you’re going to be okay.”

Tony coughs, once, and blood stains his lips.

“Just hold on,” Steve pleads, hands shaking around Tony’s face. He wants to do something, wants to help, but pulling out the rebar would just increase the rate of bleeding and, god, where are those  _medics -_

Tony coughs again, lips moving. “Steve,” he manages around bubbles of blood. “Steve.”

Steve’s been a soldier long enough to recognize a goodbye when he sees one. His chest turns to ice. This can’t be it, not here, not now. This rubble-strewn and shit-covered road can’t be the end of the line. “Stay with me,” he begs. “Tony, please, please stay with me.”

Tony just blinks at him, the look in his eyes impossibly soft despite the blood spilling out of his abdomen.

“I’m not ready to live without you,” Steve sobs, and Tony’s breaths still.

“No,” Steve chokes, “No,  _Tony -“_

“Captain, get clear of Sir,” JARVIS orders from inside the suit, but Steve can’t move, can’t tear himself away from Tony’s body. He can’t be dead, he  _can’t_ be, his body is still warm under Steve’s hands, the blood still pooling, Steve can still feel him, can practically still hear the shuddering breaths, and he can’t be gone because Steve isn’t ready, because Steve doesn’t know how to be alone yet. He can’t be gone because they didn’t get anything they’d planned for; they didn’t get an easy retirement, they didn’t get to travel the world, having lazy morning sex in expensive hotels, they didn’t get to burn Christmas dinners and end up ordering in, they didn’t get to grow old and wrinkled and sick of each other, they didn’t get to grow sick of each other, because Tony is too young.

“Steve,  _move,”_ Natasha demands from behind him, and it’s only her physically pulling Steve off of Tony’s body that gets him out of the way. As soon as he realizes what’s happening, he starts fighting, struggling his way free of her grip, but by the time he does, the EMTs have already swarmed Tony, one putting pressure on his abdomen wound, another starting chest compressions, and Steve chokes back a sob as he watches them load him onto a stretcher, into an ambulance.

“Captain!” one of the EMTs says, and Natasha ushers him onto the ambulance rig, where he sits just outside the ring of frantic paramedics.

As soon as he gets on, the door swings shut, and the ambulance peels away. Steve thinks he might be in shock, as he stares at the frantic scene in front of him. Vaguely, he realizes that Tony’s hand has fallen and is hanging off the side of the gurney.

He reaches forward and squeezes Tony’s hand tight. Tony’s gone, and Steve is alone, but at least for a few minutes, he can have this.

-

Tony wakes up in the hospital.

“Oh, god,” he groans, or tries to groan - his words are cut off by the breathing tube in his throat.

“Tony?” someone asks from beside him, and Tony blinks his eyes open to find Steve’s worried face peering back at him.

“Steve,” he tries to say, but again it comes out garbled.

“Hold on, let me find someone - Nurse Samantha!”

It takes a few minutes, but the ICU nurse manages to get the tube out of Tony’s throat, then feeds him a couple of ice chips, which do a lot to soothe the damage.

When she finally steps away, Steve fills her space immediately, settling on the edge of Tony’s hospital bed. “You scared me to death,” he says. He’s wearing his stern face, but it’s undermined by the way his voice shakes.

Tony smiles, reaching forward to take Steve’s hand. “I think it’s time for me to retire,” he says, apropos of nothing. “I was lying there with you holding my hand, and all I could think was that I wish I could have more time with you. Twenty years - it doesn’t feel like enough. Not even close to enough. And I don’t mean to say that you have to retire, but either way -“

“I’m retiring,” Steve interrupts. Tony pauses, raises his eyebrow, and Steve gives him a tremulous smile, raising Tony’s hand so he can press a kiss to the back of it. “I thought the exact same thing, you know. I don’t - I want more time with you, and I need more time with you, and I just - I want to do what we’ve always dreamed of doing. I want to take the time to just -  _be.”_

Tony smiles at him, rubbing his thumb over Steve’s palm. “You got it, sweetheart,” he says. “We got it.”

Steve bends to press a kiss to Tony’s forehead, which turns to kisses to his cheeks and then his lips. “Got room in that bed for one more person?” he asks, and Tony slides over, wincing a bit, so Steve can lay down beside him.

“I love you,” Steve reminds Tony, tucking his arm around Tony’s waist.

“I love you, too,” Tony replies, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder.

“Next time,” Steve starts, preparing his usual lecture, and then realizes, suddenly, that there won’t  _be_ a next time. They’re retiring. This is their last big fight.

“Next time there’s a crisis, we’ll sleep in,” Tony suggests, and Steve laughs, pressing a kiss to Tony’s ear.

“Sounds perfect.”


	45. In My Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'll be home for Christmas, if only...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship, Christmas fic

_“_ Wow,” Tony whistles, pausing in the doorway. “You really outdid yourself this year, sweetheart.”

Steve’s head pops up from behind the Christmas tree in the corner, eyes bright and cheeks flushed. “Yeah?”

As if the answer could be anything else. The place is gorgeous: every inch of their shared apartment is decked out in Christmasy decor, garlands looping around the corners of the room, merry Santas laughing from coffee tables, mistletoe dangling from the ceiling. And the tree - gorgeous and green and filling the whole room with the smell of pine. It’s the only part of the room that hasn’t been decorated yet, and Tony knows that’s because Steve is waiting for him.

“Yeah,” Tony confirms. He makes his way over to the tree but refrains from getting close enough to Steve to touch, instead just standing back and watching as Steve wiggles his way free from the branches. His hair is fluffy like it gets right after he shows, and Tony wonders what it smells like, if he used his own shampoo or, like he often does when Tony goes on business trips, steals Tony’s so he can smell him all day.

Finally, Steve wrestles all the way free, and he comes to a halt right in front of Tony, grinning. “It’s really good to see you,” he says, and Tony manages a grin back.

“You, too,” he says. “I miss you like crazy. It’s killing me that I can’t just step forward and hug you right now.”

“The perils of technology,” Steve says with a sigh, that breaks out into a smile when Tony reaches out to swat at Steve’s shoulder, his hologram hand shooting right through him. “Really, though, I miss you too. I can’t wait to have you home.”

“Yeah,” Tony says, glancing around the room one more time. It’s the postcard of a perfect Christmas, the thing you only see in magazines and movies, and Tony wants nothing more than to be there in person with his husband. “Just a few more days. I promise, I’ll be here for Christmas, one way or another?”

“If only in your dreams?” Steve asks with a raised brow, and Tony laughs.

“If only in my technology,” he agrees. He sways forward, moving to kiss Steve on instinct, before he remembers he’ll just pass right through him and moves back. The silence stretches, thick and dry, and Steve’s Christmas-joy expression fades just a little bit.

“So,” Tony says, swallowing, trying to come up with something to say to make that bitterness go away. “How has your week been? Tell me all about it.”

“You don’t have a meeting you’re late to?” Steve asks skeptically. It’s a fair concern - Tony did tell him he had a morning meeting, after all, but the investor called last night to say he got food poisoning - far more likely he just saw the numbers and blanched - but either way, Tony will take it. Free time is Steve time, and Tony can never get enough of Steve.

“I’ve got nothing to do but sit here with you,” Tony promises, curling up on his hotel mattress. Jarvis integrates the hologram seamlessly so Steve will see him settle down on the couch.

“If you’re sure,” Steve says, settling on the couch opposite Tony. They usually curl together, at the very least pressed thigh to thigh, for the simple comfort of contact. Now, though, proximity is more of a bitter reminder than a reassurance; they’ve learned that, nice as it is to see each other in these teleconferences, it’s best to keep their distance.

“What?” Tony asks after a moment, when Steve doesn’t move or start to speak, instead just watching Tony under the Christmas tree. The blue of the hologram must look strange under the twinkling lights; Tony wonders if the artist in Steve is simply intrigued.

But, no - this is Steve, so instead what he says is, “I love you.” He says it simply, without fanfare, but it still makes Tony’s chest go a little bit tighter. Maybe even more so than it used to.

“I love you, too,” Tony says softly. Steve just keeps smiling at him, that warm little smile, and eventually Tony has to clear his throat. “Now, Jarvis said something very interesting happened at training on Tuesday, but he refused to tell me, because apparently my husband had called dibs on telling the story. Care to share?”

Steve bursts out into laughter, eyes crinkling. “Oh, god,” he says. “I forgot I hadn’t told you about that yet - it’s hilarious, okay. So, basically what happened is Scott miscalculated an angle, and when he shrunk he did not go in the direction he was anticipating, and instead ended up a very green, very angry nose -“

Tony settles back on his hotel bed and listens. The sheets may not be as soft here as his ones at home, and the room might not smell as woodsy, as strongly of Steve, but if he just focuses on the image of Steve in his glasses, listens to the cadence of his voice, he can almost put himself there. Like a dream.


	46. Vampire Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony comes around to the sight of a person standing in front of him, someone glowing and gorgeous with soft blonde hair like a golden retriever.
> 
> “Are you an angel?” he slurs, and the man goes pink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get together, college au, fluff, blood mentions

Tony comes around to the sight of a person standing in front of him, someone glowing and gorgeous with soft blonde hair like a golden retriever.

“Are you an angel?” he slurs, and the man goes pink.

“I’m a volunteer,” he says. His voice is low and honeyed.“You passed out. Don’t try to get up.”

It comes back to Tony slowly - he’s in the ROTC building atrium, because Rhodey guilted him into donating blood. He had thought he was fine - aside from the fact that he hadn’t been able to have alcohol or caffeine over the last twenty-four hours, which burned - but no sooner had he taken a seat at the little folding table with juice boxes and packages of mini Oreos than the world started fading out around him. He’d never passed out before this. He’d always imagined it’d be a more abrupt, sudden sensation. Instead, it just felt like falling asleep.

“I said stay down,” the volunteer says again, more strictly this time, and only then does Tony realize he’s been pushing himself up.

“Oh, come on, I feel fine,” Tony protests.

The volunteer just frowns at him. For all his physique would seem to indicate he’s a popular, frat-boy jock, his pursed disapproval looks more like it belongs on the face of an angry, middle-aged librarian.

“You just fainted,” the volunteer says firmly. “Just - sit there and breathe, and if you keep protesting, I’m going to get a brown paper bag for you to do breathing exercises.”

Tony makes a face but lays back obediently. “Raise your knees,” the volunteer instructs, and, when Tony doesn’t move fast enough, nudges him up with a hand in the crook of his knee. His hands are warm and big and Tony feels ridiculous for the way his touch makes his heart beat faster but, look, this guy is practically a Greek God reincarnated and Tony hasn’t gotten laid in a ridiculous number of weeks. Like, a double-digit number of weeks. Sue him, he’s horny.

“So,” Tony says, as he settles on his back. This may not be an ideal situation for a come on, but challenges are good. Keep his pick-up game strong. “You come here often?”

Okay, admittedly not his best line, but, hey, he just lost an eighth of his blood volume, and most of the rest of it is down by his dick. The volunteer raises an eyebrow at him, but his lips quirk like he wants to smile. “The ROTC building? Yes. Our once-yearly blood drive? No, not quite as frequently.”

Tony latches on to what he can. “You’re in the ROTC, then?” he asks, and the volunteer nods. “So’s my friend. Rhodey, is his name - or, well, James, but don’t you think Rhodey sounds better than James?”

This time, the volunteer really does smile. “You know, my best friend is named James, too,” he says. “I call him Bucky.”

“See!” Tony exclaims, waving a hand in the air. It immediately goes pins-and-needles pale, and he lowers it back down. “Okay, but really, you understand then! James is just such a - a boring name.”

“Hey,” someone pipes up from behind Tony, and Tony manages to crane his neck just enough to see Rhodey come into view. He’s still in his uniform, sweaty like he’s come straight from practice. “My mama gave me that name.”

“Even geniuses like Mama Rhodes can make mistakes,” Tony says, and Rhodey rolls his eyes, reaching down to smack him on the head. He hits lighter than usual, though, and it ends up more like a fond tap.

“Steve,” Rhodey says, and it takes Tony a long moment to realize he’s talking to the angelic volunteer. “Nice to see you.”

“Jim,” Steve greets, reaching out for a quick handshake. “How are you?”

“Oh, just fine,” Rhodey says, “When this one isn’t giving me trouble. Hope he hasn’t been too much of a handful.”

“Sourpatch, how dare you,” Tony complains. “I am a pleasure, anyone would be lucky to get a handful of me, especially someone as gorgeous as Steve.”

Rhodey rolls his eyes. “Why does it not surprise me that you’re trying to get laid even when you’re sick.”

“Hey, I’m faint, not sick,” Tony corrects, although to be honest he is feeling a little nauseous. “Shoo. Go get me a juice box. I was having a conversation with Steve, here, which you rudely interrupted.”

“You didn’t know my name before he showed up,” Steve points out.

“I was getting there,” Tony says.

Steve makes as if to say, Oh, really? “Well, either way, I have other donors to watch. Jim can keep an eye on you.”

Tony pouts. “But I have my eye on you.”

“Oh my god,” Rhodey says, eyes rolling so far back in his head he looks like a zombie.

“What?” Tony demands. “That was good! That was good, wasn’t it, Steve?”

“Actually, it was pathetic,” Steve says, but that little smile is back. “How about a compromise. I go watch the other volunteers, and you stay here and let Jim watch you.”

“That doesn’t sound like much of a compromise,” Tony complains.

“And,” Steve continues, “If you stay here until the nurses say you’re okay to go, I will give you my phone number.”

And there goes the blood from Tony’s brain again. “Any way you want me, baby,” he says, and Steve actually laughs, a rich, bubbling sound that makes Tony’s heart wiggle in his chest.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he says. He offers Tony one more quicksilver grin before turning to Rhodey and giving him a much more professional, “Jim,” before he heads back to the few donors still scrolling through their phones at the snacks table. Tony takes extra care to check out how Steve’s ass looks in his jeans. In a word: fantastic.

“God bless the Red Cross,” Tony murmurs.


	47. Melatonin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony wakes with the vague feeling that it’s morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship

Tony wakes with the vague feeling that it’s morning.

The room is dimmed, but warm yellow light shines through the crack at the bottom of the door; the alarm clock on the side table reads _6:48_ in glowing red. Tony never wakes up this early.

“Steve,” he mumbles into his pillow. One hand flops out across the mattress like a landed fish, but the bed is empty. Tony groans, curling his fingers in wrinkled sheets, and forces himself up.

“Steve,” he calls with a rough voice as he pads out into the living room, one curled fist working sleep out of his eyes. “If you’ve gone on another sunrise run again, I swear to god -“

“Sunrise?” Steve’s voice pops up from the direction of the living room, and Tony redirects himself until the fluffy poof of Steve’s hair comes into view. He’s sitting on the couch, book and mug in hand, watching Tony wryly. “Sweetheart, it’s almost dinner time.”

“What?” Tony glances around again, disoriented. He could have sworn - but yes, that darkness could be from night falling, and yes, that cozy glow is just as much a nighttime fixture as a morning staple. “Oh.” Only now does it begin to come back to him - the jet lag, forcing himself to stay awake so he could greet Steve when he got home, but barely being able to make it five minutes before he started drifting off in his husbands arms. “You weren’t supposed to let me go to sleep.”

“Well, you needed it,” Steve says, reaching forward to set his mug and book down on the coffee table. “You’ve messed up your sleep schedule plenty worse than this and been fine. Just take a melatonin tonight.”

“I already take a melatonin,” Tony points out, even as he rounds the couch to settle on the couch. He swings one leg over Steve’s lap so he’s straddling him. “It’s these old bones. They need help to sleep.”

Steve snorts, hands skirting up Tony’s thighs. “Right,” he says, and he’s so close now, nose only inches from Tony’s cheek, that Tony has to dip his head down to kiss him. He tastes like Chinese tea, Pu-er, the kind he gets from the speciality shop in Brooklyn and refuses to dilute with sugar. It’s herby, and very Steve.

When Tony finally pulls back, it’s just to lean his forehead against Steve’s. “Hi,” he murmurs, and Steve hums underneath him. “Sorry I drifted off on you earlier.”

“That’s okay,” Steve says easily. His hands are running up and down Tony’s back, continuous and slow, like paintbrush strokes. “I’ve waited three weeks, I could make it a few more hours.”

“Three weeks,” Tony groans, dipping down to kiss Steve again, more quickly this time. “That’s too long. We should never be apart for that long.”  
“Tell that to Pepper,” Steve says dryly, and Tony laughs.

“I will,” Tony says, and actually means it. “With a basket of shoes. ‘Hi, Pep, I love you, you’re the best CEO ever, no more overseas trips without my husband, thank you for all you do’. That should work, right?”

“Mm,” Steve hums, pressing a kiss to Tony’s throat, his shoulder. “I think I heard she wanted an Iron Man suit.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tony says breathily, as Steve starts sucking a kiss into his jaw. “I could do that. I could totally - ah - totally do that, that is a thing that I could do -“

“Come on,” Steve says, standing suddenly. For a second, Tony’s heart swoops in his chest, but Steve’s got him, just like he always does.“Back to bed with you.”

Tony laughs again, wrapping his arms more firmly around Steve’s neck. “It’s good to be home,” he says. The world glows back at him.


	48. Cotton Mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: "Tony takes a hit meant for Bucky, thinking it would make Steve happy, but instead he has two people mad at him now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hurt/comfort, estalished relationship, insecurities

Tony wakes up, as he so often does, to the shrill, brain-grinding beeping of hospital monitors.

“Ugh,” he groans, but the sound comes out muffled, like there’s cotton in his mouth. “Wha’ happen’d.”

“You tell me,” comes Steve’s voice, strong and with a sharp undercurrent Tony has come to recognize as anger. Still, there’s an accompanying squeeze on one of Tony’s hands, and he latches on to it, that warmth. “How are you feeling?”

Like the Hulk sat on him. “Rough,” he says instead, finally forcing his creaky eyelids open. The room fuzzes slowly into focus, blurring with each blink until he’s finally able to discern Steve in front of him, hair messy, eyes wet.

“I’m not surprised,” Steve says. He’s rubbing circles on the back of Tony’s hand with his thumb, and as little as it does against the pain, Tony can’t help but think it feels nice. “That’s what you get when you jump in front of a bullet.”

It comes back to Tony in flashes: the press conference, the lone gunman, the holster of his pistol glittering like a mirage in the crowd. Tony didn’t have time to warn Bucky, or call the armor, or do anything but jump.

“Is Barnes okay?”

Steve purses his lips together. “Bucky is fine.”

For a long moment, they sit in silence. The air seems to stretch and thicken around them, uncomfortable in a way Tony rarely is around Steve. “Something wrong?” Tony asks finally when he thinks one more awkward moment will make him snap.

Steve’s eyebrows flicker up. “Something wrong?”

“I thought you’d be happy,” Tony says.

“ _Why.”_

“I don’t know.” Tony swallows hard, picking at the sheets. “Bucky’s okay. Isn’t that, you know, ideal?”

Steve closes his eyes, breathes out through his nose. “Jesus, Tony, what the hell? Bucky’s  _enhanced_. He wouldn’t have almost  _bled out,_ not like you did _._ And - and even if he wasn’t, why on earth would you think I value his life over yours?”

Tony blinks back the burning tears in his eyes and shakes his head, suddenly not trusting himself to speak. It had seemed so intuitive at the time, so instinctual. Sure, he and Steve are together, and yeah, Tony thinks Steve loves him, but this is  _Bucky._ Steve’s best friend, his brother, his sole connection to the past. He would never give that up, not for Tony or anyone, and Tony doesn’t begrudge him that. He can’t. But the reality of saying it out loud is more difficult than he anticipated, and so he doesn’t say anything, hopes Steve will catch on.

Evidently, he does, because after a moment, he softens. “Tony,” he sighs, squeezing Tony’s hand a little tighter in his. “Tony. Sweetheart, look at me.” He lays a hand gently on Tony’s jaw and tips. Tony can’t find it in himself to resist.

“Tony,” he says again, eyes shining, from exhaustion or emotion, Tony can’t tell. “I love you more than anything. You are - sweetheart, I can’t tell you how much you mean to me. I don’tvalue Bucky’s life over yours. I don’tlove him more than you. I love you both, in very different ways. But I would never,  _never_ want you to put yourself at risk like this because you think it’s what I would want.”

Tony makes a noise in the back of his throat, and Steve softens even farther, leaning forward to press his forehead against Tony’s. “Oh, honey,” he murmurs. “Why would you ever think that?”

Tony shrugs, looking down at their clasped hands. The backs of his eyes are hot. “You know,” he finally managed. “I just - I know how much he means to you. And I don’t - I’m fucked up, Steve, you know that.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, softening the blow by leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to Tony’s temple. “So am I. That’s why we work.”

There was a time when Tony would have disagreed with him but now is not it. Instead, when Steve leans in to kiss him again, Tony kisses back with as much strength as he can muster. Steve’s mouth is warm and slick and tastes like nothing, like water, that easy familiarity born of home. Tony lets himself get lost.


	49. Quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony wakes to the bed shaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hurt/comfort, established relationship, mini-pic

Tony wakes to the bed shaking.

“Don’t leave me,” Steve says, before Tony can so much as open his mouth. “Don’t - please don’t leave me.”

“What?” Tony asks, voice rough with sleep. He shoves himself up, rubbing at his eyes with the back of one hand. Steve’s got his fists curled in the bedsheets, his whole body tense like he’s awaiting artillery fire. “Of course not. Sweetheart.”

“Promise me,” Steve demands. “Promise me you won’t -”

“I promise,” Tony interrupts. Cautiously, he reaches out to lay a careful hand on Steve’s back. It’s always a coin toss, nights like this: sometimes, Steve can’t bear to be touched, so he goes for a run instead, chasing the darkness across miles and miles of New York pavement until the exhaustion forces him home. Other nights, though -

Steve leans back into Tony’s touch, relaxing just the slightest bit. It’s all the sign Tony needs to move forward, tucking himself around Steve’s body. Steve is bigger than him, but Tony makes it work, cheek to shoulder, back to front, sharp knee pressed against muscular thigh. He splays his hand over Steve’s still-heaving chest.

“I got you,” Tony murmurs. “I’m not going anywhere.”


	50. Paint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: steve and tony painting their home together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship

“You can’t paint a kitchen orange.”

Tony raises an eyebrow, waving with one paint-stained brush at the freshly done kitchen. “Uh, I think I just did.”

Figures. This is what Steve gets, leaving Tony alone while he goes to get more paint. The color was supposed to be for an accent wall, nothing else, but now every corner of their kitchen is a sloppily painted pumpkin orange.

Steve sighs, but he can feel the corner of his lips tugging up in a smile. “You painted this horribly,” he informs Tony, who’s grinning himself now. “This is going to need at least a few more coats. By someone who can  _actually_  handlea paintbrush.”

“Well,” Tony drawls, stepping forward to slide a hand up Steve’s waist. It’s stained with paint and leaves a streak of orange in its wake, like sunset clouds. “It’s a good thing I’ve got a artist for a husband. Maybe he can teach me.”

Steve relaxes into the touch despite himself. “Charmer,” he mutters, but he still leans in to press a quick kiss to Tony’s lips, only to pull back just as fast.

“What?” Tony asks, when Steve makes a face.

“Paint,” Steve explains, rubbing some from his tongue. Tony reaches up to prod at his own lip, and when he pulls his hand alway it’s tipped with orange. “Oops,” he says. “Does it not actually taste like pumpkin?”

Steve rolls his eyes, but despite his better judgement, leans in for another kiss.


	51. And New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The strangest things burn sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst, post-iw, hopeful ending

The strangest things burn sometimes.

Stumbling into the kitchen to find a half-full cup of coffee, still warm, hastily abandoned. The extra salty tang of the chicken from the new Chinese food place Tony started frequenting while Steve was on the run. The punching bag hanging in the gym, identical to the one Steve had left except for the fact it was unreinforced and now splintered like wood under his knuckles.

And now, this: Sam and Rhodey, bickering easily over whatever the news anchor on the television was just saying, lazily eating out of a shared pizza box, acting, for all intents and purposes, like absolutely nothing had changed.

It pangs low in Steve’s chest, an ache too deep to swallow down, so all he can do is breathe. “What’s up?” he asks, lightly as he can manage, in an effort to mitigate the feeling. “What are you guys watching?”

“Just another senator being an idiot,” Sam says. Steve tenses for a second, flicking a glance over at Rhodey, but he’s just as relaxed as he’d been a moment before, nodding along to Sam’s commentary.

“Sounds exciting,” Steve says. He can’t think of any more words to fill up the silence, and while Sam and Rhodey seem comfortable with it, Steve’s not; he doesn’t belong in this space with these people and these feelings, not now, not anymore. “Anyway, uh, I’ll see you in the morning for a run, Sam?”

Sam nods without looking away from the TV, which is now displaying aerial footage of some sort of protest in L.A.. “You got it.”

Steve hovers a moment longer before finally giving up and slipping away. He’s almost halfway down the hallway before he hears the conversation pick back up again, Sam needling Rhodey about something and Rhodey responding in kind. Steve sighs, rubs a hand across his chest.

It’s probably fair. He’s the one that fucked up, after all.

-

Steve misses Tony.

He’d missed him from the moment he stepped foot out of the Siberian bunker. He had been furious, of course, but it hadn’t changed the longing, and it’s only now that he realizes that’s why the anger was so strong. Passion is passion and sometimes the nuances get lost in the confusion.

He thought the ache was as bad as it could be when he was gone, when he was chasing shadows across Kazakhstan and Armenia, searching for something tangible among fruit stalls and empty mountains. The real worst, though, is this: having Tony so close but being unable to touch, to feel, to taste. It’s a flickering reminder of how things could be, if Steve were so stupid, and over time it’s wormed its way under his skin and into his lungs and now he doesn’t know how to make it crawl out.

So instead he mopes. He knows Sam and Nat and Bucky are already aware of his predicament, and something about that easy familiarity has eased itself into his expectations, so he’s surprised when Rhodey pulls him aside one morning, mouth pressed into a tight line.

“He doesn’t blame you,” Rhodey says. “I mean, I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t still angry, but.” Rhodey shakes his head. “He’s lonely.”

Steve doesn’t want Tony to be lonely. He wants him to be happy, to be comfortable, to be all those things with Steve. Even if they never get past something platonic, Steve wants to help.

And that’s why, only a few hours later, against his better judgement, Steve finds himself on the doorstep to Tony’s lab. He almost talks himself out of it half a dozen times, but finally, he squares up all his remaining bravery and knocks.

“You have an access code.” Tony’s voice comes from the speaker directly above the keypad.

“I know,” Steve says. “But this isn’t a work call.”

For a long moment there is silence, and Steve thinks maybe Rhodey was wrong. Maybe Tony’s not interested in this, maybe he won’t forgive him, maybe he’s not lonely at all. Steve’s just about to turn on his heel and leave when there’s a clicking sound and the door pops open.

“Okay,” is all Tony says, his voice distinguishable from inside the lab now, too. No more barriers. “Come in.”

Steve takes a deep breathe, feeling the ache in his lungs expand, and steps inside.


	52. Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh. Oh. This is a goodbye letter, Tony realizes. This is - Steve wrote this for Tony to read after he died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> established relationship, hurt/comfort, sorta presumed/fake death but not really

Steve’s been legally dead for three days when the letter arrives in the mail.

It’s in a crisp blue envelope, carefully addressed:  _Tony Stark, Stark Tower, Penthouse._ It’s sealed with hot wax and the logo of a law firm.

Inside is a letter and a slip of cardstock.  _Dear Mr. Stark-Rogers,_ the card reads.  _We are deeply sorry for your loss. We have reached out to your lawyers, but if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to contact us._ At the bottom is a phone number.

“Steve?” Tony calls, before remembering that Steve won’t hear him. Steve’s in the safe room in the basement - has been since he ‘died’, and will be until they find the guy who’s trying to murder him.

“Weird,” Tony mutters, tossing the card aside and pulling out the letter. He recognizes the spiky handwriting immediately as Steve’s, but that just makes it even weirder. Why would Steve send him a letter?

 _Hello, sweetheart,_ the letter begins.  _If you’re reading this, then something has happened to me, and I’m not with you anymore. I am so, so sorry._

Oh.  _Oh._ This is a goodbye letter, Tony realizes. This is - Steve wrote this for Tony to read after he died, intending it as his last words to Tony, his last farewell. For a split second, Tony think he should probably stop reading, but he pushes the thought away as soon as it comes. Tony feels almost like he’s getting a glimpse into an alternate universe, one where Steve’s death was real, the place that Tony lives in his nightmares. He can’t drag himself away. He keeps reading.

_I never wanted to leave you, especially not like this. I love you more than anything else in the world, sweetheart, and it kills me to know what this will do to you. I’m so sorry I’m not there for you anymore. I’m sorry I broke my promise. I would trade anything to spend just five more minutes with you - but I can’t._

_All I can do is tell you this: you are incredible. You are strong, and kind, and_ good. _I cannot tell you how proud I am to call you my husband, the love of my life.  There is nobody I would have rather spent it with, no better partner. You are the single best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’ll forever be grateful that I got to be with you, even if it wasn’t for as long as I would have liked._

 _Please, please, don’t be alone. I know that’s wrong of me to say, but it’s my greatest worry. I hate to think of you folding in on yourself when I’m gone, lost and lonely in that big tower. Remember, you have people who love you, Tony._ I  _love you. I hope one day you can find someone else who loves you this much, but until then, remember: it wasn’t your fault. I wouldn’t have done it any other way._

_All my love,_

_Steve_

It’s not until Tony’s vision starts blurring that Tony realizes he’s crying. Hot tears drip down his cheeks and onto the thin paper, turning words into grey stains. Tony feels like someone has hollowed out his chest with a knife, and he presses his hand to his throat, trying to breathe.

“Jarvis,” he rasps out, stumbling towards the elevator.

“Yes, sir,” Jarvis says quietly, as if he’d issued a full command. As soon as Tony steps inside, the elevator is moving, shooting down to where Tony’s husband waits.  _Alive,_ Tony thinks. He’s alive. Why, suddenly, is he having such a hard time remembering that?

Jarvis must warn Steve, because when the elevator doors open, Steve is waiting, brow furrowed with worry, puppy dog eyes wide. “Tony?” he says, when he sees Tony’s face, “Oh, sweetheart, what happened?”

Tony shakes his head, tumbling forward into Steve’s arms. Steve’s grip is tight, and his skin is warm, and Tony buries his face in Steve’s neck, raggedly breathing in the scent of Steve’s cologne.

“You are such an asshole,” he croaks, moving forward when Steve shifts as if to pull away. “I got your letter.”

“What - oh.  _Oh.”_ Suddenly Steve’s voice turns pinched, and though Tony isn’t willing to pull away to check, he knows he’s wearing a matched tight frown. “Oh, no, Tony, I’m sorry, you shouldn’t’ve gotten that. You weren’t supposed to see that unless -“

“What?” Tony rasps. “Unless you were dead?”

Steve’s grip tightens around him for just a moment. “Well. Yeah.”

Tony shakes his head, pulling back just enough so he can look Steve in the eye. Steve gets a pained look on his face when he sees him, and reaches out one hand to thumb away the tears on Tony’s cheek. “I love you so fucking much,” Tony manages. “You’re never allowed to die, okay? Never.”

“All right,” Steve agrees, cupping Tony’s jaw in one big, warm hand. “I’m never going to die.”

Tony sniffs. “Good.” Then he buries his face back in Steve’s neck, pulling him closer so it almost hurts where they touch. In one hand, he still holds that horrible letter, and he clenches his fist hard, crumpling the page. Steve is here. Steve is not dead.

“I love you,” Steve murmurs, pressing kisses into Tony’s hair. “I love you.”

Tony closes his eyes.


	53. Winged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finds Tony on the balcony, vestigial wings spread wide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, ambiguous in terms of relationship - established, pre-relationship, etc.

Steve finds Tony on the balcony, vestigial wings spread wide.

It’s only six p.m. but night is falling already, and the city paints a pretty picture spread out before them, a palette of blue and yellow and orange. Steve leans against the railing beside Tony, and takes his time soaking it all in. One deficiency of the 1940s: Steve was never privy to views like this.

“I always wonder what it’s like,” Tony says eventually, interrupting the rushing silence. Steve hums but doesn’t say anything, waiting for Tony to continue. “Being able to fly with your wings the way you do, instead of like me, in a metal suit.”

Steve turns his head, takes Tony in. He’s wearing a strange expression, something Tony can’t quite read. The way he’s positioned makes it look like he’s ready to leap, free fall, see if his wings, useless, like so many others, due to thousands of years of evolution, finally decide to kick in.

Steve turns back to the front. “I know what you mean,” he says. “When I was a kid - it was all I could think about. My ma - she used to read this stories to me, about people back when they could still fly. I know that it’s just stories, but - I don’t know. There was something about it.”

“Escape,” Tony offers, and Steve nods. “Kind of a cruel joke of nature, though, don’t you think? Give people wings and expect them not to want to fly.”

“I don’t know,” Steve says. The air is cold this high up, and it bites at Steve’s cheeks, his fingers, reminds him of ice. “If we didn’t have wings, do you think we’d try so hard? To make it up.”

Tony stares out at the city below him. “I don’t know,” he says finally, voice soft, half-stolen by wind. He turns and smiles at Steve, wings spread out wide behind him, and not for the first time, Steve thinks that they’re beautiful. They’re not nearly as large as Steve’s, nor so bright as his stark white feathers, but there’s something warm about their deep brown hue, almost like they’re glowing. “You look cold. Wanna go inside?”

“Actually, I’d rather stay out here, if I’m honest,” Steve says. “Feel up for a flight?”

From the brightness of the grin that breaks out on Tony’s face, Steve knows he’s made the right choice, even if his fingers might regret it later. “Always, Cap,” Tony says. He taps a button on his wrist, and for all Tony wishes his wings could fly, privately, Steve thinks this is a thousand times more amazing: the suit, assembling itself around Tony’s body, Tony’s genius mind and brave heart lifting him instead of mere physiology.

“Come on,” Tony says, voice distorted through the speakers. He holds out a hand. “Let’s go flying.”

Steve takes his hand.


	54. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve wakes up gasping, and for a horrible, shuddering moment, he can’t tell where he is.
> 
> (this is rough and I know it, but i'm tired of it sitting in my drafts accumulating dust)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> established relationship, hurt/comfort, nightmares

Steve wakes up gasping, and for a horrible, shuddering moment, he can’t tell where he is.

It comes back to him slowly - silky sheets, cool air, the faint smell of motor oil; he’s in bed, in his and Tony’s room.

But Tony isn’t here. There’s no warm body beside him, no faint blue reactor glow, and Steve knows it’s just that Tony hasn’t come to bed yet, or isn’t going to - they had a fight today, after all - but all Steve can think of is the Tony in his dream. He’d been dying, ringed by black shadow growing darker by the moment as the arc reactor dimmed, cracking in his chest, blood dripping down his temple and that vacant look in his eyes -

“JARVIS, where’s Tony?” Steve asks, already climbing out of bed.

“Sir, is in the workshop,” JARVIS supplies. Steve makes for the elevator.

But when he gets downstairs, he finds the workshop walls blacked out. He knows it’s just that Tony’s mad at him - he  _knows -_ but it still makes something tighten in his chest, because he just wants to see Tony, just wants to know he’s okay.

He puts his key code in to the door. There’s a pause, longer than normal, and then JARVIS comes over the loudspeaker and says, “I’m sorry, Captain, Sir has rejected your request.”

Steve sighs, leaning his head against the doorframe. He should leave him alone. He should. Tony is within his rights to not want to see Steve, and Steve shouldn’t force himself on him.

Except - except Steve’s chest feels tight, his breath is coming just a bit too fast in his throat, and he feels that uncomfortable untethered feeling he used to have all the time, after he woke up in the future.

“Please,” Steve hears himself say, almost without conscious thought. “Can you just - thirty seconds? Just thirty seconds, and then I’ll leave. Please.”

Another pause.

“Sir has accepted your request,” JARVIS says, and the door slides open.

Tony is bent over a work table, messing with a circuit board, but when Steve enters, his hands still. “Come to yell at me?” he asks, turning to face Steve. “Because I’m not coming up to - Steve?”

Steve had frozen in the doorway as soon as he’d laid eyes on Tony, relief having pulled his whole body to a halt. “Tony,” he says, consciously directing his body to move forward until Tony’s within arms reach. “Can - may I -?”

Tony nods and Steve reaches out to pull him into his arms.  _Okay,_  Steve thinks, as he presses his face into Tony’s soft curls,  _Okay._ Everything is going to be okay. Tony is warm and solid and whole in Steve’s arms. Everything is fine.

He stays there for a long moment, just holding him, breathing in his scent. Finally, though, when Steve is sure he’s pressing his thirty-second limit, he pulls back.

“Sorry,” he tells Tony, “thank you, I’ll go -“ He’s stepping back, as much as he hates it, when Tony reaches out to grab Steve’s wrist.

“You can stay,” he says. “If you want to.”

“You don’t have to -“

“I don’t mind,” Tony says. “Really. Just - sit on the couch and draw, or something.”

So Steve does. Dummy brings Steve his pencils and a sketchpad, and Steve sits on the couch, sometimes sketching Tony but mainly just watching him, mumbling to himself and ordering his bots around and just generally being himself.

It takes a while - a few hours, Steve thinks - before Tony finally tells JARVIS to wrap everything up for the night and comes to sit by Steve on the couch.

Steve, half dozing, blinks himself fully awake as Tony presses up against his side. For a long moment, neither of them says anything, as Steve waits for Tony to speak.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Tony asks.

Steve nods.

“About me?”

Steve nods again.

Tony sighs. “You make it really hard to be mad at you,” he says, finally leaning over all the way to wrap his arms around Steve’s waist. Steve buries his face in Tony’s hair, hugging Tony to him. “Want to talk about it?”

Steve sighs. “Nothing to talk about,” he says. “It - you died. So.”

Tony presses a kiss to Steve’s chest. “I’m fine,” he says. “I’m still really pissed at you, but. I’m fine.”

Steve tightens his grip.

“You gotta stop doing stuff like this,” Tony says after a moment. “I mean it, Steve. You - can’t you imagine, what it would be like for me? If you died. If you died doing something stupid and I could have -“

“Tony,” Steve murmurs, and Tony quiets.

“Please don’t do that again,” he says finally, voice hoarse. “I mean it. Please.”

“You know I can’t make that kind of promise,” Steve says. “In our line of work -“

“This isn’t about our line of work, Steve!” Tony snaps, pulling away from Steve but not so far that his knee isn’t touching Steve’s any longer. Steve’s grateful for the point of contact. “Come on, are you honestly saying that if it were the other way around, and I were the one taking unnecessary risks that you  _wouldn’t_ get pissed at me?”

“But you do take unnecessary risks,” Steve points out.

Tony huffs. “No, I take  _necessary_ risks, they’re different.  _You’re_ the only one left who’s stupid enough to run into a fucking burning building with no back up because you lost your comm and, well,  _maybe_ there’s a person left in there, and  _maybe_ you’ll be able to find them. It’s stupid, Steve!”

“It was an appropriate measure to take,” Steve countered, but he knew it was weak. “I can withstand the smoke, someone else can’t -“

“Can you withstand a building falling on you? Because it almost did! If I’d been thirty seconds later pulling you out of there, you’d be smashed to bits right now, buried under rubble -“

“But I wasn’t,” Steve reminds him softly, reaching forward to grasp Tony’s hands in his. Maybe he isn’t the only one who needs reassurance. “Sweetheart, I’m fine.”

“But you didn’t  _know_ that, Steve,” Tony says. “Come on. Please. I don’t want to fight you, you know.”

“I don’t want to fight you either.”

“Then can you just say you’ll try to stop making stupid decisions? Just try. For me. I wouldn’t - I wouldn’t be able to stand it if you died, Steve. I know you understand that.”

Steve studies Tony’s profile for a long moment. The sweep of his eyelashes. The tired bags under his eyes. The crows feet that have started to branch out across his temples, the lines that have begun to etch themselves on his cheeks. Steve sighs. “Yeah,” he promises. “I can try.”

Tony visible relaxes. “Thank you,” he says sincerely, and this time lets Steve lean forward and wrap him entirely in his arms. Tony presses a kiss to Steve’s shoulder.

“How long since you last slept?” Steve asks. Tony makes a noncommittal noise.

“I could sleep,” he says, instead of offering a real answer, which Steve knows means it’s been an awful long time.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Steve says, forcing himself to his feet and pulling Tony up with him.

“You good?” Tony asks, and it’s so like him, to ask after Steve when he’s just as stressed himself, that Steve has to lean forward to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Of course I am,” Steve says. “I’m with you.”

The elevator’s waiting for them when they step outside the lab, and they ride up together in silence, still pressed against each other. Once they make it to their room, they undress quickly, only taking a few moments in the bathroom to brush their teeth, side by side, before heading to their bed and sliding under the covers.

“Jarvis, lights,” Tony orders, and they flicker down to the darkness.

For a moment - just a moment - it gets Steve’s heart pumping. The blackness reminds him of his dream, of waking to a cold bed beside him.

But now Tony’s here, warm and sleepy beside him, and Steve turns so he can pull him into his arms. Tony tucks his  head under Steve’s chin, spreading his palm over Steve’s ribs, and suddenly Steve can barely remember the cold. Instead, all he can think of is warmth and Tony, and it feels right to allow himself to drift off to sleep. If something happens, it’s okay; he’s here. He can protect him.


	55. Cigarette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a little box Camels in Steve's nightstand drawer that he kept for when he needed them: tired days, lonely days, bad days like today, when Tony had snapped his arm fighting a dragon the size of an office building and Steve had had to drag him out of the rubble, run him to the hospital, hold his hand as they set his bones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> established relationship, hurt/comfort, smoking

For all the vices Tony had picked up over the years - drinking, gambling, sex, engineering - there was one that never stuck: smoking. He’d had a cigarette exactly once, when he was fourteen years old and fresh into his new college life. He was alone, and tired, and all the cool kids seemed to have them in the movies. Tony wanted to be a cool kid. So when a boy at a party offered him a drag, he’d taken it. He’d known the second the smoke hit his lungs that this wasn’t for him; he’d barely managed to hold back the rasping coughs enough to get out of the boy’s general vicinity, and then spent a solid five minutes hacking up a lung in a muddy little patch of grass in the empty backyard.

Despite that, though, he hadn’t been too surprised when he realized Steve was a smoker. It was more prevalent in the 1940s, so much so that Steve had actually told Tony that his doctor prescribed him, an asthmatic, cigarettes to try to firm up his lungs. He didn’t smoke them very much anymore, at least not enough for it to affect his teammates. But Tony knew there was a little box Camels in his nightstand drawer that he kept for when he needed them: tired days, lonely days, bad days like today, when Tony had snapped his arm fighting a dragon the size of an office building and Steve had had to drag him out of the rubble, run him to the hospital, hold his hand as they set his bones. He’d left as soon as Tony’s cast had dried, shoulders tense and jaws clenched. Tony didn’t have to check for the pack of cigarettes in his drawer to know where he’d be.

“So,” Tony says, tugging his coat a little tighter around him as he steps onto the roof. It’s not very effective - the cast gets in the way of things - but it makes do. Tony’s not the one with issues about cold, after all. “You wanna talk about it? Or should I come back once you’ve finished the pack?”

Steve doesn’t turn. He’s standing at the edge of the roof, pressed up against the railing, a cigarette just visible in one hand. Smoke trails around his head, like one of those abstract paintings by that artist he likes, a man’s face covered by a cloud.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Tony says finally, when he gets no response. He can’t say it doesn’t hurt, but he understands it. Steve’s not the only one who needs time alone sometimes, who needs to process.

But Tony only makes it a few steps towards the door when Steve clears his throat. “Don’t,” is all he says, voice raspy from the smoking, and Tony pauses. “I - don’t,” Steve says again. Cautiously, Tony takes a step forward, then another, until he’s close enough to lay a palm on Steve’s back.

Steve visibly startles, and Tony draws back as Steve yanks away from him. “Don’t,” Steve says again, but continues this time, “The smoke, it isn’t good for you.”

Tony’s heart relaxes a little in his chest, and he rolls his eyes. “A little bit of smoke won’t kill me, Cap,” he says.

“A lot of things could kill you,” Steve says, eyes sharp. Tony doesn’t need to ask to know that he’s thinking about today, about Tony covered in rubble, the suit cracked his broken glass around his arm.

“You too, you know,” Tony says, stepped forward to pluck the cigarette out of Steve’s grip. He stubs it out against the railing without taking a puff himself. “You’re a super soldier, not immortal.”

Sighing, Steve turns to look back over the horizon. “Somehow, I doubt lung cancer’s going to kill me.”

Tony shrugs. “Ten years ago it could’ve. Things change.”

Steve sighs again, and Tony steals a glance in his direction. He looks very tired, the faintest grey circles darkening below his eyes, face slack. He looks like he’s dreaming, or sleepwalking, like his mind isn’t all there; he barely resembles Tony’s Steve right now.

So Tony cups Steve’s jaw in his hands and kisses him. He tastes like smoke, and it’s disgusting, but he pushes through it because it’s Steve. At first, Steve is lax under Tony’s touch, mouth falling open without reciprocating, but eventually, he seems to wake up. His big hands come up to cup Tony’s waist, and he kisses back like he’s melting.

Finally, Tony pulls back, only to rest his forehead against Steve’s. “Hey,” he says, so quietly the wind might steal the words away from him.

“Hey,” Steve whispers back. His grip doesn’t flicker for a second.


	56. Nostalgia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know, when I was a kid, I always dreamed of getting married.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> established relationship, hurt/comfort

“You know, when I was a kid, I always dreamed of getting married.”

Tony turns his head to look over at Steve. “Yeah?” They’re both tired and wrung out, spread-eagled over the mattress, knees tucked over knees wrists resting on ribs. Despite that, though, Steve looks as gorgeous as always, softened by the blue moonlight cutting their bed into triangles.

“Yeah,” Steve says. He’s got a weird expression on his face that Tony can’t quite decipher in the darkness; something twisted, something tired, something sad. “I, uh - I spent a lot of time in bed, you know, being sick and all, and I had a lot of time to day dream. It was -“ He closes his mouth, shakes his head. “I knew so clearly, what I wanted to do.”

“And what was that?” Tony asks softly, aware that he’s edging over a precipice. Steve never talks about his past, at least, not like this - this blatant nostalgia, blatant longing. He’d woken up in the future, and decided to deal with in, and at the time that meant locking all his loss away somewhere deep inside him. Only now, after years of friendship and months of dating was Tony finally beginning to break his walls down, piece by piece.

Steve swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I wanted to be an artist. An illustrator, maybe, making posters or stories. And I wanted a wife. I wanted - I wanted someone to spend my life with, and a decent sized apartment in the city, where my Ma could live with us. I wanted - I wanted Bucky and his wife to be our neighbors, and I wanted kids, and I wanted to be able to provide for them, to finally be able to, to -“ Steve cuts himself off. There’s a long pause before he speaks again. “It’s all gone, now. All of that. My whole world. I spent years telling myself, just get through this, just get through this, and one day you’ll get your dream, and now -“ Steve turns to look at Tony, and only then does Tony recognize that Steve’s cheeks are wet. “Now I want different things, and it just - it just feels like I’m betraying myself.”

“Oh, honey,” Tony murmurs, finally giving in to his urge to raise a hand and thumb away the tears on Steve’s face. “Sweetheart, that’s not a betrayal at all.”

“I’ve changed so much,” Steve whispers, eyes locked with Tony’s. “I’m so different, now, and I don’t even know - I don’t even know if I’m the same person.”

“You’re not,” Tony says gently. “Steve, none of us are. I’m not the same person I was when I was a kid. Or the same person I was ten years ago. Five. Hell, I’m not the same person I was yesterday. We’re always changing. That doesn’t make it bad.”

“It just-“ Steve makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat. “It just feels wrong.”

“I know, honey,” Tony murmurs, rubbing circles on Steve’s cheek with his thumb. “But that version of you is gone. And this version of you is here. And if you weren’t you now, that would be more of a betrayal than forcing a childhood dream could ever be.”

For a long moment there is just silence and the sound of their tandem breathing as Steve ruminates. “I thought when we started dating, you said you were bad at the emotional stuff,” Steve says eventually, and it startles a little laugh out of Tony.

“Usually I am,” he says. “It’s all you. You bring the best out of me.”

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs, squeezing his arm a little tighter where it’s settled on Tony’s waist. “You bring the best outta me, too.”

“Come here, Sunshine,” Tony says, tucking himself up closer to Steve’s chest. “I got you.”

Steve drifts off with Tony in his arms.


	57. Juice Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: Tony breaks his arm in battle and Steve fusses over him while his in the hospital

“I’d rather die,” Tony declares.

Steve rolls his eyes and shoves the juice box in his face again. “Don’t be so dramatic. Just drink it. You’ll feel better.”

“No I won’t,” Tony says stubbornly. “I’ll just have to pee again, which means another twenty minute trip to the bathroom and you holding my flaccid dick which, I love you, Steve, but nobody should have to do that. It is decidedly unsexy.”

Steve sighs. “Tony -“

“Nope,” Tony says resolutely. “I am just going to systematically dehydrate myself. Yes, that’s it, a perfect plan, they can’t make me pee if I have nothing to pee out -“

“I will ask them to give you a catheter,” Steve says, and Tony stills. Steve frowns, eyebrows furrowing in his  _stern Captain_ face, the only he only brings out for kids misbehaving or Tony, when he’s feeling particularly kinky. “Don’t think I won’t.”

Tony believes him. “God damn you,” he huffs, reaching forward with his slightly-less damaged arm to snag the juice box from Steve’s open hand. He squeezes too tight, and sends a stream of juice squirting out the straw, straight onto his face. “Great,” he says, eyes pressed close so it doesn’t drip into his eyes. “Thank you, God, I see you’re really on my side today.”

He can’t find a place to safely set the juice box down without his eyes, and neither of his arms could probably reach the bedside table anyway. “Stop laughing and help me,” Tony demands, because even if he can’t see Steve’s face, he knows he’s probably grinning like a fucking loser right now. Nerd. Ugh. Tony hates him.

“Here,” Steve says, and a moment later a warm hand settles on Tony’s jaw. Tony tilts his head into it, and waits, expecting a warm rag or soft cotton. Instead, though, what he gets is Steve’s mouth pressed to his temple, licking - is he  _licking_ up the juice?

“This is disgusting,” Tony says, even though it’s nothing of the sort. “You’re - what are you, a dog, stop licking me, Mr. Golden Retriever -“

“Done,” Steve interrupts, sitting back. Hesitantly, Tony peeks his eyes open, but sure enough, no apple juice drips into his eye. Now, his forehead is just wet with spit. Tony sighs.

“Now I probably smell like your morning breath,” he says ruefully.

Steve is unbothered. “Hey, you’re the one who couldn’t handle a sippy cup, and you’re the reason I had to stay here overnight while you got your damn cast on. No complaining.”

He does look tired, and Tony feels a little pang of guilt at that. It had been a long enough day yesterday without an overnight hospital stay on top of it, but the damage from the battle was widespread, and Tony’s broken arm and recently-undislocated shoulder weren’t exactly the hospital’s top priority. Tony had told Steve he could go home, get a good night’s sleep, Tony would see him tomorrow, but Steve had just rolled his eyes and called him ridiculous and dropped another kiss on the crown of his head.  _I’m not leaving you,_ he’d said, squeezing Tony’s uninjured hand a little tighter in his, and Tony’s heart had felt overfull.

“Hey, consider yourself lucky I didn’t go glow in the dark with this baby,” Tony says, waving his cast a little in the air. “Surefire way to keep you up at night.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Tony, you’re literally a human nightlight. I don’t think a glow in the dark cast would change much.”

Tony wrinkles his nose. “Look, I’m just trying to find the silver lining in this, okay? Sorry for trying to be positive.”

Steve rolls his eyes again. “You don’t need to find a silver lining. It’s right here.”

It takes Tony a minute to realize what Steve’s talking about, but when he does, he softens against his own will. “That’s sappy,” he informs Steve, “You’re so cliche,” but he still leans forward to meet Steve halfway when Steve goes in for a kiss.

“Yeah, well, what can I say,” Steve murmurs. “You just bring it out of me.”

Tony smiles, and is open his mouth to say something when suddenly something is stuck between his lips. “Don’t choke,” Steve informs him, and then he’s squirting something, and - did that sneaky bastard just ambush him with apple juice?

Tony is forced to swallow the whole box down in the interests of not choking, glaring at Steve the whole while. “You bastard,” he says, when Steve finally pulls the now-empty box away. “You’re such a cheat. Now I’m going to have to pee again.”

Steve just smiles, patting at Tony’s thigh. “Don’t worry,” he says easily, tossing the empty juice box into the corner and settling back into his chair. “I’ll hold your flaccid penis for you.”

True love.


	58. Like a Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: steve coming home from a long mission overseas and tony not believing he’s actually home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> established relationship, fluff

Tony stops working when he catches a glimpse of Steve out of the corner of his eye.

He turns, just to double check, but he really does see Steve - a full apparition of his husband in the workshop, wearing his grimy and bloody shield uniform, normally-fluffy hair matted and grimy. “Jarvis,” Tony says, waving a hand through the air. “Save my progress for the day. I’m going to bed.”

Then he climbs off the stool, turns away from Steve, and goes to pour himself a strong drink.

“What, no hello kiss?” Steve asks, tone teasing.

“Oh, you’ll get a hello kiss, all right,” Tony says, dropping a ball of ice in his glass and swishing it around. “Just as soon as you’re actually home.”

When he turns Steve is squinting at him, looking confused. Which is annoying, but also very Steve - of course Tony’s hallucinations of his husband would be just as contrary as the real thing. “As soon as I get home?”

“Yeah,” Tony says, leaning back against the counter and taking a sip of his whiskey. “You know, in six weeks or so, give or take a day or two. Actually, Jarvis - countdown?”

“The countdown to Captain Roger’s initially estimated return date is forty-four days, sir,” Jarvis says. “But, if I may, I think the countdown may not be applicable now.”

Tony waves a hand. “Yeah, yeah, things change, it’s not perfect, whatever. I know it’s not exact, but sue me if I want to have a general idea -“

“Tony,” Steve interrupts. “You know I’m actually here, right?”

“No?” Tony tries. “I don’t - what do you mean?” It’s frustrating that Tony can’t even understand the messages his own brain is trying to send him - God knows what kind of work he’s been doing for the last hour. He really should sleep more regularly.

Steve raises his eyebrows at him, a little grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “I mean, I, Steve Rogers, your husband, am standing in front of you in the workshop right now, at 3:21 in the morning, in the flesh.”

Tony blinks at him. “But you’re a hallucination,” he says.

Steve’s smile grows a little wider. “I’m pretty sure I’m not.”

“But you’re not supposed to be back for - Jarvis?”

“Forty-four days,” Jarvis supplies.

“Forty-four days,” Tony repeats.

Steve shrugs. “Mission ended early. Natasha was more efficient than they were anticipating.”

“Of course she was,” Tony says. He’s still confused - blame the sleep deprivation. “Are you - are you serious, right now? Jarvis, is he serious right now? Is Steve actually home from bumfuck nowhere Kazakhystan?”

“Tony,” Steve chides, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, sir,” Jarvis says. “I did try to warn you.”

“Oh,” Tony says dumbly. “So Steve is back, forty-four days early from a five-month mission, and I’m just standing here, drinking whiskey.”

“That does seem to be the case, sir,” Jarvis confirms.

“Well, fuck that,” Tony says, sets down his glass on the counter, and moves.

Steve meets him halfway, wrapping Tony up in his arms as Tony throws his arms around his neck. Steve is warm and solid, and up close he smells like blood and sand and it’s not a pleasant smell, not at all, but right now Tony doesn’t much mind. He drags his face up from Steve’s shoulder, nose rubbing along his neck, to press their foreheads together. “Hi,” Tony breathes against Steve’s lips.

“Hi,” Steve says, and finally kisses him.

Tony’s sure he tastes like whiskey, a flavor Steve has never favored, but Steve doesn’t seem to mind, tightening his grip around Tony’s waist and pulling him closer. Eventually, Tony has to break for breath.

“You need a shower,” he tells Steve, breathing hard.

“Thanks,” Steve says dryly, not out of breath at all. Damn those super lungs. “Glad to know romance isn’t dead.”

“Hey, I don’t see you bringing me any flowers,” Tony says.

“They’re on the kitchen table,” Steve tells him. “Red and yellow roses. I think the card has Iron Man on it.”

“Well, I’ll have to check,” Tony says. Steve leans in to kiss him again, and again, and Tony never wants him to stop. “Maybe in the morning, though,” he manages against Steve’s lips, and Steve laughs and tugs him down onto the futon.


	59. Grey is the New Blonde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve looks like a sexy English professor for a little liberal arts college in Maine. If Tony’s knees hadn’t given out on him years ago, he would climb him like a tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship, blood mention

Steve’s first grey hair had been an event.

They had known he was aging before that - extensive tests by SHIELD and confirmative work by Bruce showed he was just as mortal as the rest of them - but they hadn’t really known what the pace of it would be until then. It was a Wednesday, Tony remembers, the heat of July, only four days after Steve’s thirty-ninth birthday. Steve had spotted the hair while shaving, and cut a line down his cheek with his straight razor in his resulting excitement. Tony was excited, too; they got blood all over the sheets.

Now, though, the appearance of a grey hair is just another day for Steve. Though Tony still dyes his hair black - he tried his natural, gunmetal grey hue and just felt like a grandpa next to his husband, no matter how kind Steve was about it - Steve has come to embrace it. His hair couldn’t even really be called blonde anymore; it’s more of a shiny iridescent hue, highlighted with silvery streaks.

Still, in his minds eye, when he thinks of Steve, Tony still sees him as blonde. It’s just natural, for him, just like how he’ll always see Steve’s eyes as blue, hands as strong and callused, muscles big and defined, no matter how he begins to soften over the years.

So it’s a bit of a surprise to him when, one afternoon, he comes into the living room to work on his tablet and finds someone with grey hair bent over a book, reading.

Tony blinks, wondering who the hell this is on his couch. Wrapped up in his blanket, turned away from Tony, there are few distinguishing features for Tony to recognize. But then Steve turns and -  _oh._

“Hey, sweetheart,” Steve says, pushing his thick tortoiseshell glasses up a little bit on his nose. His laugh lines crinkle by his eyes. “What’s up?”

Tony opens his mouth and shuts it again. Holy god. One would think Steve had lost the ability to surprise is husband after so many years, but Tony is gobsmacked. With the glasses and the hair, Steve looks like a sexy English professor for a little liberal arts college in Maine. If Tony’s knees hadn’t given out on him years ago, he would climb him like a tree.

“Hnnhg,” Tony manages.

Steve raises an eyebrow, smiling now. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“You- you are-“ Tony searches for the appropriate word. “Lickable,” he finally settles on.

Steve bursts out into a laugh, bright and gleaming. “Thank you,” he says. “I guess you would know, huh?”

“I don’t know,” Tony says, finally jerking out of his reverie enough to move forward, pulling Steve’s book from his hands and tossing it away so he can settle on Steve’s lap. The movement tugs at his hips at bit, but he’s fifty-seven, goddamnit, not a octogenarian, so he pushes through the stretch. “Maybe I should give it another taste.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but tugs Tony in for a kiss.


	60. Take Off the Suit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the 500 member celebration on the Discord server, prompt: take off the suit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship, brief mentions of ptsd

“It’s late,” Tony says, his voice floating to Steve from somewhere in the vicinity of the house.

“I noticed,” Steve tells him. In fact, that’s the whole reason he came out here. Tony’s house in Malibu has always had a lovely view of the sky at night, one that New York has always lacked, even when Steve was a kid. On clear nights, and when he has the chance, Steve likes to come out here and just enjoy the beauty. Sometimes he lays out on a beach chair, but today he’s floating on his back in the pool, watch the stars turn so slow above him, like seashells tossing in the surf.

“Aren’t you cold?”

Steve finally glances over at him. He’s backlit by the light of the house, so Steve can’t make out his expression, but he can make out what he’s wearing: nothing but a pair of boxers, his arms crossed tightly over his chest in a sad attempt to block out the night breeze.

“The pool is heated, you know that,” Steve says easily, splashing the water a bit as he moves to stand. He’s in the deep end, so even standing, the water comes up to his chest. “Come on, get in.”

Tony pauses for a moment longer, like he’s actually still on the fence, and hadn’t decided what he was going to do the moment he stripped to his underwear. Finally, though, he does make his way over to the edge of the pool, sitting down first and dipping just his feet in the water. That’s always been important to him, for as long as Steve’s known him: acclimation. The aftereffects of an old nightmare.

Steve treads through the water to join him, settling his hands lightly on Tony’s ankles and pressing a kiss to the side of Tony’s knee.

“Hey,” he says, smiling up at Tony. Tony looks tired and worn, the worry-lines in his forehead deeper than usual, but he’s still here, right in front of Steve.

“Hey,” Tony says, and slides into a water. His body, slippery like a fish, brushes past Steve’s as he falls.

“How was your day?” Steve asks when Tony resurfaces, shaking his wet hair like a dog.

“The usual,” Tony says, pressing up against Steve. He’s cast in blue by the pool lights, bright and gleaming, the same shade the arc reactor used to be. “Nothing I want to talk about right now.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve asks. He lets his hands settle low on Tony’s back, low enough that he’s essentially just gripping his ass. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Nothing,” Tony breathes against Steve’s lips. His own hand dips to Steve’s waist, and Steve sucks in a sharp breath at the feeling of Tony’s careful fingers tracing over his skin. “Now take off the suit.”

Steve does.


	61. Side Bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the anons who wanted steve being jealous of rhodey and steve being sad because he thinks tony is taken. you know where this is going

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is extra rough, sorry!
> 
> fluff, get together, hurt/comfort

Steve had always thought jealousy was an ugly emotion. Because what was it, really? Begrudging someone their happiness? Wishing you could take something from someone else? It felt wrong, like theft, and Steve had always hated what it felt like, curled up in his chest, burning at his lungs from the inside out.

So he’s always done his best to reign it in. Now, though, he can’t help it; he feels it all the time, gnawing at him. When Tony mentions upgrades on War Machine’s new suit; when Steve catches a glimpse of a picture of Tony and Rhodey, pressed against each other, propped on some mantle or side table; when Rhodey arrives back at the Tower from deployment or a mission and wraps Tony, usually dirty and sleepy from an extended workshop stay, up into his arms.

Tony always looked so thrilled to see him, his face lit up in that way it so rarely was, and Steve could never manage to stay in the room for more than a minute or two, just enough time to pass on his polite welcome, before slinking away to mope. The pulsing heat in his chest always felt horrible, more constricting that usual, and Steve hated it, because it felt like he was begrudging Tony his happiness when that was the last thing he wanted.

No, he wanted Tony to be happy; he just wanted, more than anything, for Tony to be happy with  _him._ For there to be pictures of Steve and Tony posted up around his apartment, for Tony to take breaks from the workshop to greet Steve, curl up against him all soft and ruffled, for Tony to talk about him with the stars in his eyes he gets when he refers to Rhodey, his best friend, his teammate, his partner.

It wasn’t too bad, before Steve realized that was what he wanted. For a while, he had himself convinced that he just loved Tony like a friend, like a really good friend, and he just got a weird feeling about Rhodey because he was excessively protective. It wasn’t until Tony gave Rhodey a kiss on the cheek in front of Steve and Steve shattered a glass in his hand that Steve realized it was more than that.

Since then, things have been growing steadily worse, to the point where Steve has started actively avoiding Tony whenever he can. Not even just when he’s with Rhodey; seeing Tony at all just reminds Steve of everything he wants and can’t have, and none of that is pleasant or healthy or acceptable behavior from a friend.

Steve can tell Tony notices what he’s doing, because he’s started shooting him these looks, something confused and more than a little hurt. Steve tries not to let it get to him, but of course it does, because this is a true Catch-22. There is no way to win this, only ways for it to get worse.

The whole thing has been stretching along for weeks by the time Tony ends it by charging into Steve’s room one day when he’s sketching.

“Okay,” Tony demands, door banging back against the wall as Steve startles. “I want to know what I did wrong.”

“What?” Steve asks, hastily scrabbling back on his bed. The sketchbook, he needs to hide the sketchbook -

But it’s too late, because just as Steve has located a pillow to shove it under, Tony’s eyes land on it. The book is open to the sketch Steve is currently working on, one of Tony in the workshop. He’s just wearing a tank-top and low-slung pants, body directed away from the viewer but head turned so he can smile at something just out of frame. His eyes are bright. There is no way to read this and not see  _love._

Tony’s mouth falls open. “Steve,” he says, hushed.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, but doesn’t bother hiding the sketchbook. “I really didn’t - I did’t mean for you to find out about this, I know it’s inappropriate, and, and -“

He’s cut off by Tony’s callused hand on his jaw. Steve’s throat works; his mouth clicks shut. “Stop talking,” Tony murmurs, and then he’s kissing him.

Steve gives himself a split second to enjoy it. The taste of Tony’s mouth, warm and faintly coffee flavored, pressed against his; the smooth softness of Tony’s lips, the scratch of his goatee; the smell of him in Steve’s nose, orange and metal and oil. But then Steve’s senses come back to him, as much as he might wish they wouldn’t, and he finds himself pulling away.

“Stop,” he says, one hand pressed against Tony’s chest. “Don’t.”

Tony is frowning, now, a tiny thing. “But, Steve,” he says, “This -“

“You’re taken,” Steve says forcefully, more of a reminder to himself than Tony. “No matter what you are, you aren’t a cheater, Tony, and I’m not going to let you become one.”

“I’m - what?” If anything, Tony just sounds more flabbergasted. “Steve, I’m not taken. What are you talking about?”

“Yes, you are,” Steve argues, even as the smallest seed of hope blooms in his chest. “You - you’re with Rhodey. Aren’t you?”

“Rhodey?” Tony snorts. “Are you - oh, god, are you serious? Rhodey’s the straightest man alive, I’m not with Rhodey.”

“You - but you two are always hugging, and there’s photos, and -“

“Just because the media thinks we’re dating doesn’t mean we actually are,” Tony says gently. “We’re good friends. Really good friends. Like brothers. He’s my Bucky. But we’re  _not_ dating.”

“Oh,” Steve says faintly. His brain kicks in, and it’s like explosions behind his eyelids. “ _Oh.”_

“Yeah,” Tony says, but he’s smiling. “So, can I maybe -“ He makes a gesture towards Steve, and Steve nods, moving forward to pull Tony in by the waist.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, “Kiss me,” and Tony does.

It’s even better the second time around.


	62. Car Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:
> 
> if you're still doing prompts: tony talking to steve on the phone while driving and he gets into an accident and steve hears everything and freaks out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> established relationship, hurt/comfort

Steve and Tony are on the phone, chatting, when Tony gets into the car accident.

One minute, Tony is in the middle of a rant about the newest Hammer product - a complete rip off of some MIT student’s work, apparently, someone named RiRi Williams who Tony is loaning his best lawyers to to defend her work - when he suddenly cuts himself off. “Shit!” Tony yells. The sound is followed by the screech of tires trying to break, then a thump, a sound like shattering glass, and then silence.

“Tony?” Steve asks frantically. “Tony, can you hear me?”

There is nothing on the other end but static. Not even Steve’s superheating can pick up anything. Which means - which means -

Steve feels like his heart is being out of his chest, trying to escape before it is crushed. “Jarvis,” Steve chokes out, already on his feet and moving, “Call the authorities, contact - anyone, send me Tony’s last known coordinates.”

“Done, sir,” Jarvis says immediately. “Sir’s phone last pinged from a little over twenty miles from here. You should be able to get there in approximately thirty minutes.”

“Not good enough,” Steve says, finally making it down to the garage. His motorcycle is in the closest parking spot to the elevator, and without bothering to grab a jacket or a helmet or even some shoes, Steve swings his leg over the bike and takes off.

He makes it to the coordinates Jarvis sent him sixteen minutes later, having sped so fast that he almost ran off the road at least three separate times. Not that he cares - all he can think about, the whole way there, is Tony, and how badly he must be hurt. He has no idea what to expect - a hostile enemy force, some sort of roadblock? Will Tony even still be at the site of the wreck, or will they have hauled him away by now, like the Winter Soldier, or worse - or,  _God,_ like the Winter Soldier. Is that was Steve is coming to find? A body?

Suddenly, though, Steve rounds the corner, and the wreck is there. If wreck is the right word - the car hasn’t hit any trees or driven off the road in the way that Steve feared, but there is a huge buck sprawled out on the pavement in front of it, lit up dimly by the car’s headlights.

“Tony?” Steve calls, scrambling off his bike. Tony’s not in the drivers seat, why is Tony not in the drivers seat? “Tony, where are you?”

“Steve?” Steve hears, and a moment later, Tony emerges from the dip in the woods beside the road. “Hey! Great timing. My phone got thrown clear of the car and I can’t find the damn thing - Steve?”

Because Steve has stumbled forward, bare feet getting cup up on the gravel, to wrap Tony up in his arms. “Tony,” he breathes, splaying his hands over Tony’s back. He wants to cover him entirely. “You’re okay.”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You just stopped talking mid-sentence!” Steve huffs. “You - god, I thought you were really hurt, Tony, I thought -“

“Oh, honey,” Tony says. He scratches at the nape of Steve’s neck, soothing, and Steve shivers. “Didn’t Jarvis tell you I was okay?”

“How was Jarvis supposed to know?” Steve asks a bit hysterically. “We couldn’t reach you!”

“Oh, jeez,” Tony says, voice soft. “I forgot this car isn’t one of mine, I should’ve realized. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Steve forces himself to pull back, but only far enough that he can look Tony over. “Are you hurt?” he asks. Tony’s face looks fine, no cuts or bruises, so Steve works downward, checking his neck, his arms, his chest. When Steve brushes his hand over the right side of Tony’s ribcage, Tony sucks in a breath, but just shakes his head when Steve meets his eye. “It’s just bruising,” he says. “From the seatbelt, and maybe the airbag. I’m fine.”

“I want someone to look over you,” Steve insists, running his hands quickly down Tony’s abdomen, checking for a rigid stomach, sensitive points, any sign of internal bleeding -

“Hey,” Tony says, catching Steve’s hands in his. “I’m fine, honey.”

Steve swallows hard. “You scared me.”

“Well, I’m right here, and I’m just fine. Only thing that got hurt was the deer. And the car, a little bit, but I’m pretty sure I can afford the repairs. Okay?”

Tony’s smiling at Steve, now, his soft little smile, and Steve reaches up with one hand to brush a lock of hair off Tony’s forehead. “Okay,” he agrees.

Which is of course when the rest of the Avengers show up.

-

The rest of them give Steve plenty of shit about it, calling in the cavalry for a minor automobile altercation. There wasn’t even much for them to do, other than call a tow truck and find an open-bed truck they could use to lug the deer back to the Mansion for venison.

Still, one person who never makes fun of Steve for overreacting is Tony. Whenever the topic comes up, he just smiles, and rubs a hand over the back of Steve’s neck, or his knuckles. He usually doesn’t say anything, but Steve can feel his meaning in every touch:  _I’m here. I’m fine. I’m alive._ It never fails to settle the ache in Steve’s chest.


	63. Big Puppy and Little Puppy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Steve had proposed, for a split second, Tony had worried he was a Skrull. One concern he hadn’t ever had, though, was that his husband was secretly a giant puppy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship

When Steve had proposed, for a split second, Tony had worried he was a Skrull. Not that it seemed thatlikely, it was just - well. Steve was Steve, and somehow, despite that, he wanted to marry  _Tony._ Excuse him if he was a little concerned.

One concern he hadn’t ever had, though, was that his husband was secretly a giant puppy. He had been worried once that Steve had been turned  _into_ a puppy - there was a fight with Loki and a strangely placed golden retriever, it was a long story - but never that he was a dog in a skin suit. Now, though, leaning in the doorway to his living room and watching his husband romp and roll like a dog in a meadow, Tony couldn’t help but wonder if that should have been higher on his list of concerns.

“Hey! Hey, boy! Hey!” Steve crouches on the floor in front of Dodger, eyes wide and mouth open, like his tongue could loll out at any moment. “Hey! You gonna get this from me, huh? You gonna get it?”

Only then does Dodger move enough for Tony to see that he’s clutching a thick rope in his mouth, and does his best to tug it out of Steve’s hands.  _Good luck, bud,_ Tony thinks, taking a sip of his still-steaming coffee. Unless Dodger was secretly the god of thunder, Tony was pretty sure he wasn’t stronger than Steve.

“Yeah, come on boy, dig your teeth into it!” Steve encourages. He’s so ridiculous around Dodger - adorable, yes, but completely ridiculous. He treats Dodger like he’s a little kid who needs to be taught the ways of the world. More than once, Tony has caught him trying to explain some aspect of life to Dodger, like if he just says it in a nice and patient enough tone of voice, Dodger will finally understand why it’s not safe to run out into the middle of the street and start policing himself on the sidewalk.

“That’s it, boy, that’s it,” Steve praises, allowing Dodger to tug the rope a little farther away from him. “Good boy!”

“Is he stronger than a supersolider?” Tony asks, and is rewarded by Steve’s bright smile when he turns.

“Tony!” he says. “We were just playing tug of war.”

“I can see that,” Tony says, coming to kneel carefully on the floor beside Steve. For a moment, it looks like Dodger is going to let the rope go so he can pounce on Tony, but he seems to remember the crucial fight he’s in and goes back to pulling at the chew toy with renewed vigor.

“He’s pretty strong, actually,” Steve says. “I bet he could beat you in tug of war.”

Tony squawks, indignant. “You did not just say that.”

Grinning, Steve shrugs down at Dodger. “Truth hurts, doesn’t it Dodger? Don’t you think you could beat Daddy? I bet you think you could beat Daddy.”

“You keep calling me Daddy like that and I’m going to start thinking you have a secret kink,” Tony says. “Okay, big guy, hand it over, it’s my turn.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up. “You sure? Dodger can get pretty vicious -“

“Give me the damn toy,” Tony grumbles, elbowing Steve in the side as he tugs it out of his grip. For a moment, Dodger loses his grip on the toy, unseated by the turn of events, but the moment Tony starts tugging at the rope he’s back in full force. He makes this weird little growly noises, too, like he’s trying to defend his territory or intimidate his enemy, which is quite frankly adorable when Tony considers that Dodger also sings along to his Lion King toy. He really is just the canine version of Steve.

Tony’s good humor evaporates after a moment, though, when he realizes that Dodger is actually pulling on the rope  _hard._ Like, really hard. Like, hard enough that it’s actually an effort for Tony to keep it in his grip. It’s an old, frayed rope, and it burns his palms every little bit Dodger gets to drag it forward, plus it’s already slick with dog slobber. Steve would say those last two contradict themselves, but Steve his a super soldier, so he doesn’t get an opinion. So when Dodger eventually tugs the toy out of Tony’s hand, sending Tony toppling back into Steve’s lap, it’s of course just a result of the circumstances.

That doesn’t stop Steve from laughing his ass off, though.Tony grumbles and shoves at his chest. “My hands are tired -“ he starts, but can’t get any further before Steve leans in to kiss him to shut him up.

“I love you,” he tells Tony when he pulls back. For just a split second, Tony softens, until Steve continues, “Even if you are weaker than our child,” and Tony has to pull away to find a pillow to smack him with.


	64. Heavenly Bodies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:
> 
> the softest, fluffiest, sweetest thing u can imagine for stony. they deserve it. let them b happy and snuggle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship

“What do you think?”

Steve turns to find Tony emerged from the closet, holding two ties in front of his chest. One is a deep red, almost purple, decorated with faint pinstripes. The other is a silky emerald green that shines in the light of their bedroom.

“Green,” Steve says, and Tony nods, tossing the reject aside. He hooks the green tie around his neck and moves to knot it, but Steve steps forward to stop him with a gentle hand on his wrist. “Let me.”

Tony drops his hands obligingly, tipping his head back to give Steve better access. One of his hands comes up to settle lightly on Steve’s waist, fingertips just grazing his skin, and Steve has to breathe deep and force himself to focus. It doesn’t help much, with Tony’s intent gaze on him, the sharp and spicy smell of Tony thick in Steve’s nose, but it keeps him from jumping Tony right there and then.

“There,” Steve says finally, when he’s satisfied. He doesn’t move back. “Perfect.”

“Thank you,” Tony says. His eyes have a bit of green in them, Steve thinks; flecks around the edges that make the brown so earthy and warm. The tie brings it out. It’s a good color on him, not that there are really any bad colors on him. Electric orange, maybe. But, no, Steve thinks, that would look great on him, too.

“Need something, soldier?” Tony asks breathily.

“Mm,” Steve hums, leaning a little closer, tipping his forehead against Tony’s. “I don’t know, maybe just a quick -“

Tony’s lips are warm beneath his, tasting vaguely of toothpaste and whiskey. Steve kisses him slowly, leisurely, for a few minutes before he finally pulls back. “I better get ready,” he says.

“Yeah,” Tony agrees, hands wandering up Steve’s bare chest. “Not that I don’t love the shirtless look, you really do look like a greek god, but I don’t think this is what the Met Gala had in mind when they said the theme was Heavenly Bodies.”

Steve rolls his eyes but ducks back in for one more quick kiss. “Find me some cufflinks, will you?” he asks. “Whatever ones you like.”

“Ooh,” Tony says, allowing Steve to slip out of his grasp. “That’s too much freedom you’ve given me. You know I have cufflinks in the shape of tits, right?”

“Whatever you like,” Steve repeats, because it’s not like anyone’s particularly likely to notice his cufflinks tonight anyway, and if it makes Tony happy, it’s worth it.

Sure enough, Steve is rewarded with Tony’s mirthful little cackle. “Oh,  _yes,”_ he says, and Steve’s grinning as he ducks back into the bathroom to finish shaving.

-

The next morning, photos of Steve and Tony on the red carpet are plastered over the front of the Daily Bugle. Their clasped hands have been enlarged and a big red circle has been drawn around the slender silver figures clearly going at it doggy-style on Steve’s cuffs. Tony laughs so hard he falls off his chair. Steve has no regrets.


	65. This Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor is the first to offer to wield the gauntlet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> commission for song-of-freedom
> 
> pre-relationship, post-iw, angst w/ ambiguous ending

Thor is the first to offer to wield the gauntlet.

“I could have ended this,” he says gravely. He looks so old, now, Steve thinks, wrinkled and wounded and tired. He wonders if this what Odin looked like. “It’s my fault he has wrecked this pain on the world. It’s only right that I am the one to fix it.”

“That’s fucking ridiculous,” Tony says immediately. “It’s not your job to fix the entire galaxy’s problems, Thor. By that measure, every one of us is guilty. If anyone should be the one to wear the gauntlet, it should be me.”

Rhodey makes a displeased huffing sound, but before he can say anything, Steve speaks up. “Tony’s right,” he says. He catches a quick glimpse of Tony’s face out of the corner of his eye - wide and surprised, like he wasn’t expecting Steve to be big enough to agree with him - and it stings. “This isn’t on you, Thor, but it isn’t on Tony, either. Neither of you should have to be the ones to wield it. This is my responsibility.”

There’s a chorus of displeased sounds. “Come on, Steve,” Sam says.

“It’s true,” Steve says, jaw clenched. “I am - I  _was_ the leader of the Avengers. And I’m the reason we fell apart. I’m the reason that we had to deal with this like we did, on individual fronts, instead of how we always should have: together. That’s the real reason we failed - not because Thor missed the head or Shuri couldn’t destroy the Mind Stone in time. Because we weren’t together.”

There is a long beat of silence. “I think missing the head was a pretty big part,” Thor mutters.

“Steve - that wasn’t just your fault,” Tony says. “I mean, yeah, you could have handled that better, but so could I. We all could have. This isn’t on you.”

Steve meets Tony’s eyes. They’re so warm, he thinks, so deep and brown. How it it possible he’s never really appreciated that before? How was it possible he spent so many years taking Tony for granted, taking his generosity and kindness and humor for granted, treating him like he was disposable, treating him like he was second-tier? He was everything Steve could have ever wanted, and it was just his luck to not realize it until he’d let him slip through his fingers.

“I appreciate that,” Steve says, and means it. “But we need to be realistic. We have no idea what the gauntlet is capable of. We have no idea what it will do the wielder - we don’t even really understand what it’s done to Thanos. It could kill us. It probably will kill us. Everyone here - they have a life. Thor’s needed to lead his people, now more than ever. Tony - you’re Earth’s best defender. You’re the only person truly able to steer the world in the right direction. Me?” Steve shakes his head, looks down at his feet. “I should have died eighty years ago. I don’t belong here. You don’t need me. If anyone should go - it should be me.”

“Steve,” Sam says hoarsely, after a moment of quiet, “Steve, don’t be ridiculous, that’s not -“

“This isn’t up for debate,” Steve interrupts, tone hard. “I will be the one to yield the gauntlet, end of discussion. If, that is, we can even get this thing to work. So let’s just focus on making this happen, okay? It’s the only way. Dismissed.”

The Avengers - especially the Rogue Avengers, who had followed Steve into exile - look upset, but there’s not much they can do. They knew someone would have to go; and in many ways, it being Steve does make the most sense.

Everyone shuffles out of the room until eventually, just Steve and Tony are left. Steve rises and makes for the door, but he’s stopped by a hand to his forearm. He turns.

Up close, Tony’s eyes are just as warm as from a distance, but now Steve can see they’re shining. “You’re not allowed to die,” he says. His voice is hoarse, almost wet. “Gauntlet or no gauntlet, you’re not - you’re not allowed to die.”

“Tony -“ Steve starts, but Tony just shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “No. You are not allowed to die, and that is an order, okay Rogers?”

Then, so fast Steve can barely process it, he leans in and presses a trembling kiss to Steve’s forehead. He darts away just as fast, disappearing out the door before Steve can muster the presence of mind to say a few words, leaving Steve alone in an empty room. Disbelieving, Steve raises a hand to his forehead, ghosting his fingers over the spot Tony had just touched.

Maybe he has more of a place here than he thought.


	66. Natasha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Steve says he’s dating Tony, Natasha is - less than impressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, outsider POV
> 
> commission for @natasharomanoffburnbook on tumblr!

When Steve says he’s dating Tony, Natasha is - less than impressed.

It’s not that she hates Tony - far from it. She’s come a long way since her Natalia days, and she’s mature enough to admit that her original evaluation of Tony was wrong. It was also made under extenuating circumstances, which means it’s not really  _her_ fault that the evaluation called him arrogant, narcissistic, and suicidal - those things were all true at the time. She just didn’t get a chance to see Tony as he normally was, when not dying of palladium poisoning.

As he normally was, it turned out, was a hell of a lot better. Sure, he was still snarky and sleep-deprived and egocentric more often than not, but he also did things like build new arrows for Clint, stock the fridge with that special Tibetan yogurt Bruce likes, and not only go along with but co-found the weekly tradition of Wednesday movie nights.

Still, a hell of a lot better does not equate good enough for Steve. After all, Steve is -  _Steve._ Earnest and kind-hearted and, sure, a little bruised around the edges, but who isn’t? Steve deserves someone who can dedicate time to him, who will love him completely and without reserve, who can pull him up on his worst days and allow him to be the best man he possibly could be.

Tony - just doesn’t strike Natasha as that person.

Physically, of course, he’s well within Steve’s league - Natasha herself will admit that ass is enviable, and with the decades of experience he’s got tucked under his belt, his sex game must be fucking wild - but he, too, is ultimately quite twisted. He gets caught up in his work, and forgets to eat or sleep or say hi to his teammates; he has insecurities and commitment issues that hold him back from ever fully expressing his emotions; and too often for Natasha’s liking, Tony seems to bring out the worst in Steve, the angry and the contrary, not the warm and good.

So, yeah, when Steve tells her, somewhat shyly, that he’s asked Tony out, and Tony said yes, and  _could you help me find something to wear to the movies tonight?_  she’s not exactly thrilled. She’s a spy, though, so of course she manages a flawless facade, and helps Steve get ready. He has no idea what he’s doing, poor thing; he’s got a button-up shirt laid out on his bed for a date to a grimy movie theater, because,  _well, it’s a date, shouldn’t I look my best?_

It takes longer than Natasha was expecting, between the dressing and showering and grooming, but eventually, Steve is ready to go, only thirty minutes before he’s supposed to meet Tony. Natasha suggests he accompany her to the common room, maybe play a few games of Mario Kart, just to calm his nerves, but it’s rather ineffective. By the time six o’clock rolls around, Steve’s broken two controllers, and his knees are bouncing so hard it’s making the insanely stable flooring of the Tower actually creak.

Natasha half-expects Tony to forget, or at least turn up half an hour late, but he actually arrives right on the dot, looking just as nervous as Steve. His hands are cleaned of grease, she notes, and his hair is slicked back: he really prepared for this.

“Hey, Steve,” Tony says, with a wobbly, quicksilver smile. “You, uh, ready to go?”

“Yeah!” Steve leaps to his feet and, in his haste, steps right on a broken piece of the Nintendo controller. “Shit!”

He’s barefoot, shoes waiting by the door, and he seems to have stepped on something sharp because the first thing Natasha sees is the deep red of blood. “Shit,” she echoes, rising to her feet to help, but before she can do so much as offer Steve a shoulder to lean on, Tony is there. He slings Steve’s arm over his shoulder and helps him over to the kitchen table, easing him down into a chair, though Natasha is sure that Steve, having walked off bullet wounds, could probably have managed by himself.

“I can’t believe I did that,” Steve is saying, frowning down at the sole of his foot. The cut isn’t too bad - on a regular person, it wouldn’t even need stitches, which means for Steve it should be healed in only a few hours. “I feel so silly.”

“Why?” Tony asks, reappearing in front of Steve with a first aid kit in hand. He takes a seat on the chair beside Steve and pulls out a cotton swab to dab at the blood on Steve’s foot. “I’ve done that, like, a ridiculous number of times. Dummy keeps leaving spare parts on my floor - and I’ve told him, you know,  _many_ times, that his literal only job is to clean the floor and hold things, but I guess mini-me was bad at coding AI, because he never seems to get it.”

Steve laughs, and Natasha realizes the earlier nerves have begun to dissipate under Tony’s even gaze. “You’re right, seventeen year old you was just an idiot. What were they thinking, calling you a prodigy?”

Tony grins. “I know, right? Okay, I’m going to bandage this up, and then we can see if you feel okay walking on it.”

“Oh, I’m sure it will be fine -“ Steve says hastily, but Tony stops him with a hand pressed over his mouth.

“We don’t need to go the movies, Steve,” he says easily. “I mean, we should watch a movie either way, but we can always just use the flatscreen in my suite, catch you up on some more classics, instead of going to the theater.”

“I want to go to the theater, though,” Steve says. “I know you wanted to see that movie, I don’t want to make you miss it.”

Tony huffs. “I want to hang out with you, doofus,” he says, smiling. “The movie is just a bonus.”

“Oh,” Steve says softly. He’s almost pink in this light, Natasha thinks, like he’s blushing: that Irish complexion, gives everything away. “That’s, uh - that’s really nice.”

For a moment, Natasha is almost worried Tony will kiss him, but Tony just smiles at Steve for a moment longer before returning to wrapping the gauze around Steve’s foot. “Okay,” he says finally, giving Steve’s foot a pat and leaning back in his seat. “All set. Give it a test drive?”

Steve stands and hobbles a couple steps. “Yeah, that’s not bad,” he says. He’s lying.

Tony sees it, too. “You know,” he says, tucking the medical supplies away. “If we watch a movie in the penthouse, we can eat dinner while we watch. From that good Thai place we found, too, the one with the really good mango sticky rice.”

“You don’t have to do that, Tony -“ Steve starts.

“I want to,” Tony interrupts. “And not for you, either. I’m in the mood for mangos.”

Steve pauses, looks him over. “Well,” he says finally, “If you insist,” and Tony breaks out into a grin.

“I do,” he says. “I really do. Now, come on, let’s get going - you’re going to love Monty Python.”

He offers an arm to Steve, and after what looks like a split’s second hesitation, Steve takes it. Together, they walk slowly to the elevator. Natasha ducks out of sight just as they’re returning to the living room, pretending to read some science magazine left out on the coffee table, and waits until she hears the elevator doors ding shut to turn her head.

Huh. Maybe this will work out better than she thought.


	67. Bad Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve sometimes has bad mental health days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> established relationship, hurt/comfort, mental illness

Tony wakes up to his nine a.m. alarm with a warm body still curled next to him.

Immediately, he’s concerned: Steve almost never sleeps in, and today in particular, Tony knows he was meant to meet Sam at Central Park for a run.

“Blinds,” Tony murmurs, and gradually the blackout windows fade to an ashy grey, letting a soft, rosy light into the bedroom.

Beside Tony, Steve doesn’t move. He’s got his forehead pressed to Tony’s shoulder and his eyes closed. He’s breathing fast, so Tony knows he’s awake, but he doesn’t move when Tony runs his fingers through his hair, strokes a hand down his spine. Tony can only see half his face peeking out from where it’s buried in his pillow, but it’s enough to know he looks like shit.

“Sweetheart?” Tony asks. “Are you okay?”

Steve makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. “Are you sick?” Tony tries, pressing the back of his hand to Steve’s forehead. It’s warm, but just regular supersoldier-warm, not illness-hot. “Jarvis, run vitals.”

“Captain Rogers is within healthy parameters, sir,” Jarvis replies promptly. “Further, no extraterrestrial or magical interference has been detected on the grounds since last evening.”

“Huh.” Tony frowns, combing his fingers through Steve’s hair again. “Any other suggestions, Jay?”

“If I may,” Jarvis says, “This may be related to Captain Roger’s mental illness.”

Steve stiffens under Tony’s touch at the words, and it all clicks. “Mute,” Tony orders, and Jarvis goes quiet. “Hey, Steve. Sweetheart. Shh, it’s all right, I got you. Just tell me what you need.”

Steve just shakes his head against Tony’s shoulder.

“I can leave if you want me to,” Tony presses. “Whatever you want is okay. I have mental health days sometimes too, you know. I just want to help.”

Steve still doesn’t say anything. He looks so tired it makes Tony’s chest ache; hair messy, lips drooping, the whole of his being exerting pure exhausted energy. Just last night, the team had eaten dinner together, bickering about the proper toppings for pizza and whether Natasha could actually kill someone with a sharp enough slice, and then watched a movie on the couch. It was a heart wrenching and romantic story, full of death and destruction; Tony wonders if it was what set this off, or if in truth it was nothing at all. Chronic depression is chronic depression - some days will naturally be worse than others.

“If you don’t say anything I’m going to assume you want some space,” Tony says quietly.

He waits, but still there’s nothing, so he pushes himself up off the mattress. “Okay, honey. Whatever you need. I’ll be the workshop if you change your mind -“

He’s stopped by a hand on his elbow, grip warm and tight. He turns around. Steve is watching him with big eyes that gleam in the darkness, eyes rimmed in red. “No,” Steve says, voice hoarse like he’s been yelling. “Stay.”

“Okay,” Tony agrees immediately. “Okay, no problem.”

He crawls into bed and back into his spot on the mattress, but now, Steve turns away from him. Tony takes the cue to nestle up behind him, tucking one arm around Steve’s waist so he can splay his hand over Steve’s chest. Steve’s heartbeat is too-fast under Tony’s palm.

“I got you,” Tony reassures Steve. Maybe it’s his imagination, but he swears he feels Steve relax a bit in his arms. “I got you.”

They lay together a long while in the quiet.


	68. Where We Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gauntlet gives Steve third degree burns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get together, post-IW, hurt/comfort
> 
> commission for @song-of-freedom

The gauntlet gives Steve third degree burns.

Later, doctors will say he’s lucky that he got to keep the arm at all. If it were any other human, even any other superhuman, their flesh would have dissolved to ash. They’re not sure how Steve managed to survive it, and neither is Steve, but it’s a mystery he doesn’t care to solve: he is here. He is alive. And so is everyone else.

Because that was what he did with the gauntlet, that and only that: bring back everyone who was killed in or during the Great Loss. Really, what he does is more turning back time than anything: restoring the world to the state it was before Thanos snapped his fingers and turned everyone to dust. The only thing that remains are the memories, blackened and curdling in everyone’s mind. Steve could destroy them, too, but he chooses not to: this is important to remember.

Steve is returned to his prior state, too, so that one moment he is standing on the ruins of Titan, and the next he is blinking his eyes open in Wakanda. He doesn’t feel the gauntlet still encasing his fist, or the burns bubbling his skin; he doesn’t feel much of anything at all.

He gets whisked away by the medics pretty quickly, after Bucky takes one look at his arm and arm and almost vomits up the contents of his stomach. He’s the one who yanks the gauntlet off Steve’s hand and tosses it aside into the underbrush, the one who calls for Shuri, T’Challa, anyone, the one who makes Steve remember what it is to feel.

He doesn’t see Tony for a while after the victory, because Tony is still stranded on the dusty surface of a foreign planet. The Guardians are with him, though, so this time instead of drifting through space for months, he manages to make it back to Earth orbit within a couple of weeks. Captain Marvel plays a role in that, too, Steve thinks, though she never says much to him.

So by the time Steve and Tony are both back in the compound, the victory feels almost like a fever dream. Little has changed since the Great Loss, and yet simultaneously, everything has. It’s unsettling. Steve wakes almost every night screaming, and that is when he is most grateful for the marks the gauntlet has left on him: the evidence. He cradles his warped and scarred arm to his chest, and repeats it to himself over and over again:  _It was real. It’s over. It was real. It’s over._

Steve’s out for a walk around the Compound when Tony’s spaceship lands, and by the time he makes it back, Jarvis says Tony’s already sequestered himself away in his lab, surely analyzing some piece of tech or weapon, some ripple effect or contingency that the rest of them have all missed.

Steve figures, given everything, the least he can do is make Tony lunch, so he pulls out the ingredients for a sandwich. Bread, mustard, turkey; he assembles it slowly, one-handed, while he tries to think of what to say to Tony. What would a good opener be:  _Hey, thanks for saving the world. Hey, I’m so glad you didn’t almost die in space this time. Hey, I think part of me has been in love with you since I woke up in this century, and I’ve fucked it all up and down again, I know, but it would mean a lot to me if we could just try to be friends._

It all sounds stupid in his head, which means it’ll sound even dumber in person. He dismisses it all.  _Hey,_ he thinks. That’s good. Lets Tony set the tone of the conversation, right? Whatever he’s comfortable with.

Steve nods to himself, resolute, then moves to pick up the plate. He’s so caught up in his head, though, that he forgets he’s not supposed to use his left arm, and a searing pain shoots through his shoulder and down his forearm. Steve gasps, fingers tightening reflexively around the porcelain plate as it tips, sandwich going tumbling -

Before it’s pulled free of his grasp. “Shit,” someone says, voice low and raspy.  _Tony,_ Steve thinks. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You know you’re not supposed to use that arm.”

 _I know that, but how do you?_ Steve wants to ask, but he presses his lips shut against the pain. “It’s fine,” he manages. “Just - forgot for a second, it’ll pass -“

“Like hell it’ll pass,” Tony says. “Sit the hell down, I’m getting you an ice pack.”

“Really, that’s not necessary -“ Steve tries, but he’s just met with Tony’s glower.

“Sit down, Rogers,” he orders, and Steve does.

Tony rummages through the freezer for a moment before he emerges with a bag of frozen corn. “No peas,” he explains. “Natasha probably ate them all again. Here.”

Steve expects him to pass over the bag, but instead, he stands close up against Steve’s side and holds the icepack in place himself. He misses the mark by a bit, focusing more on Steve’s pain-free elbow than his flaming wrist, but Steve doesn’t say anything, worried it will send Tony scurrying away. It’s nice, this proximity, even if it is unfamiliar as of late.

After a moment, Tony’s eyes flick up to meet Steve’s, and Steve can see the moment he realizes how close they are. His pupils widen, and his breathing comes a little faster; Steve has a strong urge to lick his lips.

The moment is broken, though, when Tony clears his throat and steps back, gesturing for Steve to take over holding the icepack. “That should help,” he says.

“Are we ever going to talk about this?” Steve asks.

Tony looks away, out the window. “I don’t know,” he says. “I can’t say I ever thought this is a situation I’d be in.”

“I know,” Steve says, feeling the too-familiar guilt gnawing at his chest. “I know, but now we’re here, and I just -“ He sighs. “I don’t know what to do.”

Tony’s lips curl into a humorless smile. “Guess we’re finally on the same page then, huh? Only took eight years.”

“And what a page to be on,” Steve agrees. There’s a beat of silence between them, before Steve’s sighing and looking down at his hands. “Look. I don’t want to pressure you into anything. I know - I know what I did was unforgivable. I know you probably don’t want to see me right now, but I - I also know that I would never forgive myself if I didn’t give this a shot. I’ve missed so many opportunities in my life, Tony, so many things because I was too scared or too complacent or too - entitled. I don’t want to do that again.”

When Steve glance back up at Tony, he’s staring at Steve, expression unreadable. “I don’t want to do that either,” he says finally, and for the first time in what feels like months, Steve feels a little flicker of hope sputter in his chest.

“I know we can’t just leap into anything,” Steve says quickly. “I know this will take - time, and work, and patience, and maybe it won’t work out at all, but I thought we could start out slow. Maybe just - dinner?”

Tony stares at Steve a moment longer, and Steve tries hard not to blush under scrutiny. Suddenly, it feels like everything is riding on this moment, like a sandwich has turned into the sum total outcome of Steve’s life. Steve’s heart hammers in his chest.

“Yeah,” Tony says softly. “Yeah, I could do dinner.”


	69. (Fight or) Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first thing Tony does when Steve walks into the Tower after a month of hiding away from the world is slap him in the face.
> 
> Which, okay. Steve saw that coming. He deserves it, after all - as Bucky had phrased it when Steve had called him panicking, it was “kind of a dick move” to propose and then run away to London less than an hour later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for tonystarkier
> 
> established relationship, hurt/comfort, angst w/ hopeful ending

The first thing Tony does when Steve walks into the Tower after a month of hiding away from the world is slap him in the face.

Which, okay. Steve saw that coming. He deserves it, after all - as Bucky had phrased it when Steve had called him panicking, it was “kind of a dick move” to propose and then run away to London less than an hour later.

“Tony -“ Steve starts, only to get smacked in the face again. The rest of the team clusters along the edges of the common room and in the doorways, like they know they should give them space but are unwilling to leave Tony alone. Steve is grateful. They, after all, were here when Steve wasn’t, and if they’re amused by what will surely be an embarrassing spectacle of Steve groveling, well. He deserves that, too.

“Fuck you,” Tony spits, but his voice warbles, and Steve feels his heart break in his chest. “You are such a piece of shit, Rogers, such an absolute -“

“I know,” Steve says, voice pained. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

“Oh, you’re  _sorry?”_ Tony laughs, a cruel thing, but his eyes are wet. “You’re sorry. Well, that’s just great. You gave me a heart attack, you know that, because I thought there was no  _way_ you would have just left by your own will. No, you must have been kidnapped, or blackmailed, or coerced. I was just about to report it to SHIELD when Bucky informed me that, no, you weren’t in any danger, you just decided to  _leave me.”_

“I’m sorry,” Steve says hoarsely, feeling tears prick at his own eyes. “God, Tony, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Tony shakes his head, turning away to swipe at his eyes with shaking fingers. “What do you want,” he says finally, voice hollow. “Come back for your things? Or do you just want to move back into your old room?”

“No,” Steve says helplessly, “no, none of that. I want you.”

Tony goes still. Steve wishes he could see Tony’s face right now. “You want me,” Tony says dully.

“I know,” Steve says, wincing at his own stupidity, “I know, I was - it was horrible, what I did to you. Unforgivable. But it was a mistake, Tony, just a stupid, stupid mistake -“

“Did you go see Peggy?” Tony asks bluntly. He whirls around to face Steve, and now his eyes are hard, jaw set. “Is that why you went to London?”

“What does that - how is that -“

“I just want to know,” Tony blazes on, “If the reason you decided to run away was that you’re still in love with your geriatric ex-girlfriend. Is that where you’ve been the last month? Carrying on a relationship with her until you decided, no, she’s not good enough either, I’ll go back to Tony for a while, see how that lasts.”

“Tony, that’s not fair,” Steve protests, “You know I love you. That’s why I proposed to you, you’re it for me, Tony -“

“Is that why you ran halfway across the world when I said yes, huh?” Tony shakes his head. “What, were you expecting me to say no? Was that what this was about? Some sort of sick dare and you figured well, Tony doesn’t know how to commit, so you thought you were safe and then, like an  _idiot,_ I accepted, and suddenly you couldn’t stand to be anywhere near me -“

“I panicked!” Steve yells, cutting Tony off. “I’m sorry, but I panicked, okay? I just - you said yes, and I didn’t expect it,  _not_ because I don’t think you’re capable of committing but because why would you want to marry me? I should have waited. I shouldn’t have proposed when I wasn’t ready. But I didn’t realize it until afterwards, okay, because it just dawned on me that this is it. You’re settling for me for the rest of your life. And I love you, Tony, I do, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, but it just - it just freaked me out, okay, the idea of  _am I going to be enough_ and  _is he going to regret this,_ and I couldn’t bear it if you end up regretting this, Tony. I really couldn’t. I had to get out of here. But it doesn’t mean I don’t love you, and it doesn’t mean I don’t want to be with you, because I do. I really, really do, and I’ll spend however long you need showing you that.”

When he finishes, he’s out of breath, chest heaving. Tony is staring at him, eyes bright, hands curled into fists at his sides.

“You need therapy,” Tony says hoarsely. “In what world is that a normal response to a proposal?”

“I know,” Steve says. “I know, I’m sorry. I realized as soon as I got on the plane, but by then it was too late, and I just - I was too much of a coward to face you again, not right away.”

“Who finally screwed your head back on right?” Tony asks. “Was it Peggy?”

Steve swallows. “Yes,” he says, then hastens to add, “But in a purely non-romantic manner. It’s just - she’s the only person who has some perspective on this. Some distance. I needed that.”

“Right,” Tony says. He nods, almost to himself, turning away from Steve again. “Right. Right.”

A long moment passes, and nobody speaks, “Tony,” Steve says finally, almost pleading and not caring, “Please. I know I fucked up. I know that. Just tell me what I need to do to make it up to you.”

Tony’s fingers clench hard on the back of the couch, until his knuckles are almost white against the cushions. For a horrible, juddering moment, Steve thinks that Tony is going to say there isn’t anything he can do, that they’ll never be able to get back what they lost, that Steve has doomed himself forever.

Instead, though, after a moment he lets go of the couch and turns back to face Steve. “I wasn’t kidding about the therapy,” he informs Steve. Some of the tears that had gathered in his eyes have broken free and are dripping down to his chin. “Maybe couples therapy, or something, because we need to work this out, whatever it is, whatever is going on we need to -“

“Anything,” Steve vows. “Anything you need me to do, I’m there.”

Tony nods down at his shoes, raising a hand to swipe at his nose. “It might take me a while,” he says.

“That’s okay,” Steve says immediately. “That’s - I wouldn’t expect anything different. I know this is hard Tony, I know the position I’ve put you in and I’m just - so, so grateful you’re even willing to consider this.”

He waits but Tony doesn’t say anything else, just rocks back and forth on his heels, alone in the middle of that big room. “Can I - it’s okay if you say no, but can I hug you?” Steve asks finally.

Tony glances up at him through wet eyelashes, then back down at the floor. “Sure,” he says, as though this is normal, casual, even though it’s anything but. “Hug away.”

Steve moves carefully, not wanting to startle Tony, and gently wraps his big arms around Tony’s slender frame. He tucks Tony up against his chest, and Tony tucks his face against Steve’s neck. After a moment, he starts shaking in Steve’s arms, so thinly it’s like a tremulous vibration; Steve feels his neck going wet.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs, heart splintering just that little bit more in his chest. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

Tony doesn’t say anything back, but he knots his fingers in Steve’s shirt so tight that the shirt pulls at Steve’s shoulders.

It’s enough.


	70. Blue Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is it safe?” is the first thing Steve asks when Tony tells him about Extremis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> commission for closeonmarksnosedive. hope you like this lil fic, the bigger one should be out later today!

“Is it safe?” is the first thing Steve asks when Tony tells him about Extremis.

“As safe as it can be,” Tony replies, which is true but also makes Steve’s eyebrows pinch.

“How risky is it?”

Tony shrugs. He really doesn’t want to give Steve the numbers, and not too long ago, he would have refrained, but he and Steve had made promises to each other. Openness, honesty, partnership. “About 95% chance the surgery is successful.”

Steve clenches his jaw. “95%,” he repeats. He doesn't look pleased.

“That’s actually a really good success rate,” Tony can’t help but point out. “For a heart surgery in general, let alone open-heart -“

“So there’a five percent chance you won’t make it,” Steve continues as if Tony hadn’t spoken. “One in twenty shot you’ll die. That’s a risk you’re willing to take?”

Tony sighs. “Steve -“

“I’m not - condemning,” Steve interrupts. He looks pained, but ploughs on. “I’m not saying it’s bad. But I’m asking. Is it a risk you’re willing to take?”

Tony thinks about the arc reactor. Thinks about the way it glows in the night, casts cyan shadows over Steve’s cheeks. Thinks about the way it shines out of the center of the suit, the heart of Iron Man.

Thinks about the way it sits on his lungs, a corroded stone corrupting his body. Thinks about the way he can’t breathe around it, sometimes, the way it makes him feel like he’s suffocating. Thinks about the strain it puts on his heart. Thinks about the strain it puts on his mind, the constant worry, the fear.

“Yes,” Tony says easily. “It’s worth it.”

Steve sighs and closes his eyes, but when he opens them again, all Tony can see is determination. “Okay,” he says, finally stepping forward to pull Tony into his arms. “If that’s your choice, I’ll support you.”

Tony smooths his hands up Steve’s back, clenches them in the soft fabric of his flannel. “Thank you,” he says softly.

“Don’t thank me,” Steve says. His voice is warm, close to Tony’s ear. “I’m your partner, remember? It’s what I’m here for.”

“Unless I’m being a dumbass,” Tony reminds him.

As he had hoped, it makes Steve laugh, a low, rich thing that sends vibrations through Tony’s chest. They sit alongside those of the arc reactor, thin and thrumming. Tony swears the reactor is vibrating harder than usual, faster, like a heart that knows its lifetime is about to come to an end.

“Unless you’re being a dumbass,” Steve agrees.

-

Tony wakes cotton-mouthed and aching.

“Ugh,” he manages, before he can so much as open his eyes. There’s a warm hand in his, and Tony musters the energy to squeeze at it even as he clenches his eyes shut and squirms away from the light. “Steve?”

“Hey, sweetheart,” Steve says from somewhere to Tony’s right. “The surgery went well.”

“Yeah?” Tony dares to squint one eye open, and it hurts like a bitch with these fluorescent lights, but it’s not as bad as he was expecting. He peeks the other one open, too. “No complications?”

“None at all,” Steve promises. He looks like shit, Tony thinks as he swims into focus: hair mussed, eyes tired. Smiling. “Helen said you were a model patient.”

“Well, yay,” Tony says, wiggling to try to get comfortable against the pillows. “Good for me.”

Steve lets go of Tony’s hand so he can reach over and rearrange the bedding for Tony. Normally, Tony would complain and insist he’s fully capable of taking care of himself, but right now his body aches too much to bother. It’s helpful. He keeps his mouth shut.

“Want to see it?” Steve asks, when Tony finally stills.

It takes Tony a moment to realize Steve’s talking about the arc reactor, and then another to consider if he really wants to. He wonders if the Extremis healed the scars on his chest, or if they’re still tattooed all over his skin, something left behind even if the reactor itself is gone. He wouldn’t mind if they stayed, he thinks.

“Nah,” Tony decides, squeezing Steve’s fingers tight. “I’m good for now.”

He drifts back off to sleep with Steve beside him, a stronger protection than the arc reactor had ever been.


	71. Clear the Rust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I won’t hurt you,” Steve chokes again. Tony’s fist pauses in midair, a sort of stutter, before it moves again. He’s not hitting particularly hard, is the thing, and that’s with the weakest weapon in his arsenal. If Tony wanted to hurt Steve, he could have. Hell, he could have killed Steve in a second, bullet to the heart or repulser to the temple, and nobody would have been able to stop him. But he didn’t.
> 
> (civil war fix-it)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> commission for closeonmarksnosedive
> 
> get together, fix-it, angst w/ happy ending, hurt/comfort

Steve never wanted to fight Tony, not really. Not on the Helicarrier, when he picked at Steve’s newly-defrosted and emotionally-unstable buttons; not at the Tower, when Tony accidentally created a monster-bot intent on taking over the world and all the Avengers had to clean up his mess; and not now, standing in this bunker, as Tony watches the one video Steve had hoped he would never see.

“Did you know?” Tony demands. His eyes are wide and his voice is quavering, but his jaw is set, stance firm.

“I didn’t know it was him,” Steve says.  _Lie._

“Don’t bullshit me, Rogers,” Tony hisses. “Did you know?”

A beat of silence. Steve takes a breath.  _Time to face the future._  “Yes.”

Steve should have expected the punch in the face, but somehow it manages to take him by surprise. He goes down hard, knocking his head hard on the concrete when he falls. He groans, ears ringing, and heaves himself to his feet, only to find both Tony and Bucky gone. From the next room there is the sound of metal clanging against metal; Steve grabs his shield and runs.

Steve finds Tony pressing Bucky against the floor, one gauntlet raised as if preparing for a repulsor blow. Steve knows ordinarily, Tony wouldn’t hurt anyone that viciously, but his expression is aflame with anger, so Steve throws his shield as he runs through the door, knocking Tony loose from Bucky. Bucky takes the opportunity to crush Tony’s gauntlet in one hand and roll out from under the armor and back to his feet.

Steve catches up to them just as Tony is heaving himself back to his feet. He plants himself in front of Bucky, hands out like he’s placating a wild horse.

“We can stop this, Tony,” Steve says. “It wasn’t him.”

“I don’t care,” Tony hisses. “He  _killed my mom.”_ And he swings for Steve.

“Go!” Steve manages to yell at Bucky, before Tony takes Steve down. He hits Steve hard in the solar plexus, and Steve gags at the sharp force. Tony moves to pull back, to look for Bucky, so Steve latches on, arms wrapped around Tony’s neck like they’re flying together. “No,” he grunts, and Tony shoves him back against the wall, sending a blinding line of pain up Steve’s spine. “No,” Steve says again, as Tony cracks his wrist against the concrete. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Maybe Steve is being stupid. Maybe he should throw a punch, try to disable the armor. But he can’t. Tony is - Tony means too much to Steve for him to do something like that, too much for Steve to deliberately give him a paper cut, let alone a punch to the fucking face. Hurting Tony accomplishes nothing. Hurting Tony just hurts Steve. Because they’re friends: Tony is Steve’s friend. Maybe they could have been more than that, once, if Steve had just worked up the courage to say how he felt, maybe still could be, could stop this little dance -

But it doesn’t matter. They’re friends, regardless of whether they could be something more, and Steve won’t hurt his friend. Not anymore.

“I won’t hurt you,” Steve chokes again. Tony’s fist pauses in midair, a sort of stutter, before it moves again. He’s not hitting particularly hard, is the thing, and that’s with the weakest weapon in his arsenal. If Tony wanted to hurt Steve, he could have. Hell, he could have killed Steve in a second, bullet to the heart or repulser to the temple, and nobody would have been able to stop him. But he didn’t.

“Tony,” Steve manages. Tony hits his bicep. He hits his chest. The punches are weak, barely bruising, barely permeating to deeper flesh.

“Please,” Steve says. “Please, Tony. Hit me all you want. I won’t hurt you.”

Finally, Tony lets go of Steve’s shoulder and slumps down onto his knees. “He killed my mom,” Tony chokes out.

“I know,” Steve says, feeling tears prick at his own eyes. “I know.”

Tony makes a strange hitching noise so warped by the armor that it takes Steve a moment to realize it’s a sob. Immediately, he moves forward, reaching for Tony - to give him a hug, a hand up, anything - but Tony is already pulling away.

“I’ll send Natasha to get you,” Tony says, voice suddenly dull, and then with a flash of blue light he’s gone.

Steve slumps back onto the cold concrete floor. Now that Tony’s gone and the adrenaline is wearing off, Steve can feel his wounds more sharply, starting to burn and sting up and down his sides. None of them compare to the ache of his war-torn heart, a physical thing pulling at him from inside his chest.

“Where’d he go?”

Startled, Steve whips around, only to find Bucky hovering in the doorway. He sags back down, shakes his head. “Home, I think.”

Bucky nods. “And what about us?”

Steve turns back towards the window Tony just disappeared out of.  “I don’t know.”

-

He should have known where they headed, and later kicks himself for not realizing it: it’s Tony. Whatever his flaws, he isn’t cruel or inconsiderate, so within a month, Steve and Bucky are back at the Compound. Natasha comes over, just as Tony promised, to help them beg and barter their way back into the U.S. without signing the Accords. They’ll have to sign them at some point, Steve knows, but at least they’ll have a chance to revise them, a chance to make them better. It’s something.

Natasha’s presence also brings to light an evidently long and tortured history between her and Bucky. Steve still isn’t quite sure how to deal with this new, flighty version of Bucky, but Natasha navigates him with ease. She makes Bucky smile more quickly than Steve would have thought possible, and the way he looks at her - well. Steve imagines it might hold a candle to the way he looks at Tony. He’s glad. Just the possibility of having someone can mean a lot in this world.

Tony isn’t there when they arrive back at the Compound, but Steve doesn’t honestly expect otherwise. He’s not sure when Tony will want to see him again, or if he ever will at all. After all, what is this but another disappointment in a long line of a betrayals, a string of abused generosity and broken trust? It’s enough to give anyone a complex, and almost enough to make Steve want to swear off people entirely.

He know he’ll regret it if he doesn’t try, though, which is why, three days after arriving back at the Compound, Steve asks Friday where Tony is. “The workshop, Captain,” she informs him smoothly. “I believe he is working on upgrades for his armor.”

Making the walls stronger, the barriers thicker: it’s what Tony always does after a bad fight. “Has he eaten recently?” Steve asks, heaving himself up from the couch.

“Not in almost thirteen hours, no.”

He makes Tony a turkey sandwich with sprouts, extra mustard, no mayo. His chest feels like it’s filled with writhing snakes, but he pushes the thought back and knocks on the door. His hands are shaking. Steve can’t remember the the last time he felt this nervous.

There is a long pause, like Tony is debating whether or not to let Steve in. Finally, though, Friday says, “Access granted,” and the door pops open with a hiss. Steve has to close his eyes for a moment against the relief -  _there’s a chance, maybe I can fix this -_ before he squares himself and steps inside.

Tony is bent over a gauntlet that’s splayed open on a countertop like an organism to be dissected. He doesn’t look up when Steve comes in, but Steve can see the almost imperceptible way his hands are quavering around the screwdriver, the firm set of his jaw. Steve takes a deep breath.

For a long moment, the silence stretches, awkward and tight. “I brought you dinner,” Steve says finally, setting the plate down on the countertop a few feet away from Tony. “If you, uh. If you’re hungry.”

“Wow,” Tony says flatly. “Thank you so much. That totally makes up for everything.”

“Tony -“ Steve starts, not even sure what he’s going to say, but Tony interrupts him before he can get anything else out, screwdriver clattering down on the countertop.

“Do you know how many friends I have that haven’t lied to me?” he asks. He grabs a dirty rag and to wipe his hands, turning away so Steve can’t see his face. “None. You’d think I’d have learned to expect it by this point, wouldn’t you?”

“Tony -“

“No, don’t - don’t do that. That fucking - I thought you cared about me, Steve. I really, really did. I thought we were friends. Good friends. Not as close as you and Bucky, though, and I guess it’s on me for thinking that wouldn’t be a problem.”

Steve swallows hard but doesn’t speak. Tony got his hands braced on the countertop, shoulders tight. “You’ll probably laugh at me for this,” Tony says, voice suddenly hoarse, “But I thought we were going somewhere. Not just - as friends. I thought maybe, you and I - but what, was the flirting just a game to you? Did you think it was funny to, to - fuck with me, like that, because I wouldn’t be surprised at this point, Steve -“

“No,” Steve chokes out around the lump in his throat, “Tony, no, it was nothing - nothing like that, I didn’t mean to, to -“

“What?” Tony demands, whirling around to face Steve. His eyes are wet, Steve realizes, and his own are, too. “You didn’t mean to lie to me? Say it, I dare you.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Steve says instead. “Tony. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to fight you. I never meant to - Fuck.” Steve swipes at his eyes. “I know what I did was wrong. I know it, Tony, I’ve known it the whole time and it’s - it was horrible of me to do. I know that. I do.”

Tony stares at him. His eyes are icy but his lip is trembling.

“I know you might not be able to forgive me,” Steve manages. “I know this will be tough. But I’m going to ask you to anyway. Because I do think we we’re going somewhere, Tony. This wasn’t a game, or a joke, or - or whatever you’ve been thinking. I want to be with you.” He takes a tentative step forward, and then another, when Tony doesn’t flinch away. “And I get it, if it takes time. If you can’t trust me for a while, if you need space, if you need - whatever you need, really. I want you to be happy, I don’t want to hurt you. Whatever that takes - I will do my best to give to you. But I really, really hope you can find it in yourself to give me another chance.” Steve is close enough to touch Tony, now, and he takes a breath, squares all his courage, and reaches out for Tony’s hand. Tony shudders but doesn’t pull away. His fingers are clammy and cold and his eyes are wide, face pale. “I think we could be great together. I think I could make you happy. And I want a chance to show you that. To make up for all the shitty stuff I’ve done.”

Tony stares at him for a long, long moment. “Why did you do it?” he asks finally.

Steve shakes his head, willing the tears back. “Because I was stupid. Because I was afraid. Because - because I didn’t want to hurt you, but I didn’t want Bucky to get hurt either, and I didn’t feel like there was a middle ground. Because I panicked. There are a million reasons. But I don’t have an excuse.”

Tony’s still watching him. Steve can’t help but feel like an exhibit under surveillance, like a broken machine under the gaze of the most skilled mechanic in the world.  _Can you fix me? Can we fix this? Or is it too far gone?_

“I don’t like it,” Tony says eventually, “And I’m really pissed. But I understand your reasons. They were bad reasons. But I get what you were thinking at the time.”

Steve’s whole body goes weak with relief. He closes his eyes. He can’t find it within himself to speak.

“But I mean it when I say I’m pissed,” Tony continues. “I have - all of the energy of the sun burning inside me right now and I’m definitely going to try to deck you one or two more times.”

Steve manages a weak laugh. “That’s fair.”

“And I’ll do my best with Bucky.” Steve’s grip tightens around Tony’s palm, but Tony ploughs on, “To get used to him, you know. It wasn’t his fault, and it wasn’t - fair of me, how I reacted. I am sorry about that. But I can’t take it back, so from now on, I’m just going to do my best.”

“Tony, no,” Steve protests, “You don’t have to -“

“It wasn’t fair of me,” Tony says, “To lash out like that, especially when Bucky was really a victim, too, and I had all the information -“

Steve can’t hear another word of this, so he does the only thing he can think of to really shut Tony up: he kisses him.

Tony’s lips, warm and slick beneath Steve’s mouth, part immediately at his touch. He tastes faintly of coffee; Steve’s never kissed someone who drank coffee before. He thinks it might be the best thing he’s ever tasted. He brings up a hand to wrap around Tony’s waist, and in turn Tony cups his jaw with his careful, callused hands. Steve can feel Tony’s heartbeat under his fingers, his breathing slow and steady against Steve’s own chest.  _Mine, mine, mine._

When it ends, Steve tips their foreheads together. “Don’t apologize,” he rasps. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

Tony doesn’t say anything, just closes his eyes.

It takes a moment for Steve to realize this might have been an overstep. He clears his throat and starts to pull back, saying, “I’m sorry, is this okay? Should I not have -“

This time he’s the one cut off by lips against his. Steve lets himself sink into it. “No more secrets, okay?” Tony murmurs some time later, voice half whisper.

“No more secrets,” Steve agrees.

-

_Did you know?_

_I didn’t know it was him._

_Don’t bullshit me, Rogers. Did you know?_

A pause.  _Yes._

Another pause, and then Steve’s falling down, blinding pain spreading from his jaw. He struggles to his feet.  _Bucky,_ he yells.  _Bucky!_

He chases the noise of the fight to find Tony pinning Bucky to a wall. He knocks Bucky free.  _Run,_ he yells, and Bucky scatters. Steve turns to face Tony. This time when Tony hits him, he hits back.

Jaw, leg, parry. Steve shatters the faceplate with his inhuman strength, dodges Tony’s blows and knocks out his bad knee, counters Tony’s punch and slams him with the shield. Knocks him down and climbs on top of him, like he’s riding him, except he’s not, because Tony is hurt and bleeding on the floor, and Steve -

He lifts the shield above his head and brings it down in a swinging arc. Tony’s eyes are wide and terrified.  _Steve,_ he chokes out. Steve wakes just before the rim of the shield makes contact with Tony’s face.

Immediately, he lurches out of bed, chest heaving and stomach clenching. “Steve?” he hears someone murmur, half-asleep, but he has to stumble away to the bathroom so he can bend over the toilet and vomit up his dinner. He feels shaky and wrong, and no matter how many times he dry-heaves, he doesn’t feel like he got all the sickness out.

“Hey,” Tony says, laying their warm palm on Steve’s back. He can’t quite manage to hold back his flinch.

Steve feels the way Tony stills behind him. “Siberia?” he asks.

Steve nods.

“I’m fine,” Tony says.

“I killed you,” Steve croaks. “Again.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Tony murmurs. He withdraws his hand, and immediately Steve misses the contact, but it’s only so Tony can slide down to sit on the floor himself. “I’m fine,” he says again, tucking his arms around Steve’s waist. He presses his forehead between Steve’s shoulder blades. “You didn’t hurt me.”

“Yes, I did.”

Tony sighs. “Not in that way. Steve. Honey. Come on. I’m fine, you’re fine. This is all the past. You’re okay.”

Steve looks down at his chest. Tony’s hand is splayed across Steve’s heart, fingers digging just slightly into Steve’s too-tight, soft sleepshirt. Steve thinks it’s probably one of Tony’s that got mixed up with his in the wash. He closes his eyes and breathes deep, takes in the smell of Tony, his cologne and his shampoo, the warmth of his body behind him, all of it lacking the cold metallic tinge of a bunker.

“Yeah,” Steve rasps. He brings up a hand to cover Tony’s, lacing their fingers together. “You’re okay.”

He’s not quite sure he believes it, but Tony will be here until he does.


	72. Wedding Doves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s Tony’s wedding day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship, weddings
> 
> commission for tonystarkier; follow up to chapter 69

It’s Tony’s wedding day.

“It’s my wedding day,” he informs Pepper as she puts the finishing touches on his bow tie.

Pepper’s lips quirk up. “Yes, Tony, I am aware of that.”

“Cool,” Tony says, nodding his head. “Cool cool cool. Just wanted to make sure.”

Just then, there’s a rap at the door. A moment later, Rhodey’s head pops in.

“Hey, Tones,” he says. “How’s it going?”

“It’s my wedding day,” Tony tells him. “Like. My  _wedding_  day _.”_

Rhodey’s grin widens as he slips inside the room, door closing with a soft click behind him. “Yep,” he agrees. “It’s your wedding day.”

“How’s everything going out there?” Tony asks, barely able to resist the urge to bounce on his heels. Pepper needs to affix his boutonniere, and she’ll probably slap him if he makes it harder for her than it already is. He doesn’t want a red handprint on his cheek at the alter. “Everything good?”

“Everything’s great,” Rhodey promises. “And Steve is great too, in case you were wondering.”

“What? No,” Tony denies, though he can’t deny the way his nerves calm a bit at the reassurance. “Why would I be worried?”

“I know it’s been a rocky road,” Rhodey continues, as if Tony hadn’t spoken, “But he’s really excited, Tony. You should see him.”

“That’d be bad luck,” Tony protests automatically. That’s the last thing he needs - more things going wrong, getting twisted up. It’s been a rough road getting to this day, certainly rougher than Tony had expected. Steve had always just seemed so - sure, so confident that it was easy to forget how young he really was. When he’d run away to London, only an hour after Tony had accepted his marriage proposal - well. It was a low.

Tony honestly hadn’t been sure they’d get back to this point, not for months after Steve returned. No matter what Steve said about insecurities or panicking, it always hovered at the back of his mind, the question of  _was it me? Was it really just me?_ It’d taken a lot of therapy and Steve dropping to one knee again, almost two years after he’d proposed the first time, before Tony had let himself believe this could actually work.

“What if I fuck up my vows?” Tony asks suddenly. “Oh, god. What if I swear?”

“You didn’t write your own vows,” Pepper reminds him patiently. “All you have to do is repeat after the minister.”

“But what if I repeat after her wrong?” Tony presses. “What if I can’t say anything right, what if she asks me to say  _I do_ and I’m, like, crying or something, and I can’t get it out -“

“I’m sure they’ll figure out what you mean,” Pepper reassures him.

“Well, of course they will, they’re not dumbasses, but then until the end of time everyone will remember me sobbing at the altar like a child. Oh, god,  _the video.”_

“Shut up,” Rhodey says with an eye roll, fond but firm. “Stop making problems before they happen. You’ll be fine.”

“There are worse things in the world than crying at your wedding,” Pepper reminds him. “Plus, I bet Steve will be crying.”

“Yeah? You think?”

Pepper nods. “I’d bet my favorite Louboutins on it.”

“Oh,” Tony says. He likes that idea, of Steve being overcome by his emotions so much that he starts crying when he sees Tony walking down the aisle. Sue him. “That’d be nice.”

Pepper’s grin widens. “Yes it would.” She gives one last tweak to his suit jacket, then steps back and gives him an appraising look. “I think you’re done. Rhodey?”

Rhodey gives him a once over. “Looks good to me. We got ten minutes until the ceremony starts. Want to head over?”

Tony takes a deep breath, glancing over at the mirror propped on one of the walls. He looks good, he thinks. His hair is styled just enough that it doesn’t look like bedhead, but it’s still loose and soft the way both Tony and Steve prefer it. His suit is clean and wrinkle-free, and the blood-red rose in his button looks good against his tanned skin.  He looks ready for the rest of his life.

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Yeah, let’s do this thing.”

-

They never officially take up the bet about crying, but Pepper would have won it if they did. Steve takes one look at Tony and all but bursts into tears, so that by the time Tony makes it up the altar, his face is red and puffy. Tony smiles around his own tears, and lifts a hand to wipe them away.

“Hey, love,” he murmurs.

Steve offers him a tremulous smile. “Hey.”

It’s only when the officiant clears her throat that Tony remembers where they are and what they’re doing. He laughs at himself, reaching down to grab Steve’s hand in his. Right now, he couldn’t care less about what the video footage will show.

“Ready?” he asks. Steve nods. They turn together to face the future.


	73. New Year's Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony wants a kiss at midnight, but Steve is gone on a mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship
> 
> happy new year!

Tony misses Steve.

In of itself it’s not that surprising, because - shocker - he always misses Steve when he’s not around. Sometimes even when Steve is still in the Tower, just not with Tony, which is its own brand of ridiculous that Tony doesn’t want to get into. The problem  _now_ is that Steve is actually gone, over a week late from a mission that’s made him miss both Christmas and, now, New Year’s, and Tony really really wants him back.

“I’ll kiss you at midnight,” Jan offers when she notices Tony looking more and more downtrodden the closer the clock ticks to the new year.

Tony forces a smile. “It’s fine, Jan,” he promises. “You’ve got Hank to kiss, anyway.”

Jan rolls her eyes. “Please. He’s probably passed out under a table somewhere. I swear he has the tolerance of a child.”

“Or an ant,” Tony offers, and is rewarded with a smack on the arm.

“You’re not funny,” Jan says, even though she’s struggling to suppress her grin. “You’re really not.”

“You better go find someone else to entertain you, then,” Tony says, ducking in to press a quick kiss to her cheek. “Happy New Year.”

He slips away before she can say anything else, seeking out someone else familiar in the crowd. They ended up inviting a lot more people than Tony was expecting - SHIELD agents, mostly, but also various acquaintances and, Tony suspects, some old hookups of Thor’s - but there are a good amount of Avengers here, too. Tony should be able to find  _someone_. After all, he wants to start this year the same way he wants it to end, and for him, that’s simple: not alone.

Last year, that wasn’t the case. Last year, he reflects, started out particularly rough, and for no good reason, either. It was a multitude of things - S.I.’s dipping stock, an unexpected resurgence of Tony’s depression, a newfound tolerance to Xanax that forced Tony to get off of it completely. It’d been a difficult couple of months, to say the least.

So the mid-May revelation that Steve was in love with him had been especially uplifting. Not that it wouldn’t have been fantastic either way, of course, but as it was, it ended up sort of the tipping point of Tony’s year. Suddenly, everything was edging from black to grey and, finally, to white, and Tony was happier than he could ever remember being. After so many years of wanting to be with Steve, actually dating him was like a dream that never ended, and Tony soaked up every ounce of it that he could.

Eventually, of course, the rosy phase ended, but to Tony’s surprise, domesticity was no worse than the honeymoon phase. If anything, it was better. They settled into each other, like the two cliched puzzle pieces snapping together, and Tony - well. He’s more hopeful now than he’s ever been.

So he doesn’t really  _need_ to kiss Steve at midnight. He knows that. This future is looking pretty good regardless of how the first minute of the year of it starts out. But it’d be nice, Tony thinks, to start the year on a good note for once - to be reminded of everything he has going for him instead of all the troubles.

Tony shakes the thoughts loose from his head. It’s fine. He’s  _fine._

“One minute left!” someone shouts, and a cheer goes up through the room. Tony cranes his neck and stands on tiptoes in a renewed effort to find a fellow Avenger, but still he can’t spot any of his friends in the crowds. Surely, they must be here somewhere? But it’s like they’ve vanished: all Tony can see is a sea of vaguely-familiar faces.

“Ten!” someone shouts, and Tony resigns himself to a lonely New Year moment. It’s fine, no big deal. Shit happens.

“Nine! Eight!.”

A warm hand settles on Tony’s shoulder and spins him around.

Tony - gapes. “Steve?” he hears himself say. He feels like he’s dreaming, and all the glowing lights and shouting voices around him just contribute to the sensation.

 _Seven!_ the crowd yells.

“Hi,” Steve beams.

_Six! Five!_

“You, but -“ Tony fumbles for words. “I thought -“

_Four! Three! Two!_

“Happy New Year,” Steve murmurs, suddenly only inches away, and Tony closes his eyes as the clock strikes midnight. There’s the sudden clamorous racket of kazoos and people shouting, and then, drowning it all out, the warm touch of Steve’s mouth against his own.

Tony is breathing hard when they part. “I thought you were on a mission,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumb across Steve’s jaw.

“I was,” Steve agrees. “I didn’t think I’d make it back in time. Sorry I missed Christmas.”

“It’s okay,” Tony says. “We can celebrate tomorrow. I’ve got a bunch of gifts to give you.”

Steve groans, but he’s smiling. “We said no presents, Tony.”

“Come on, Steve,” Tony chides. “It’s me. You can’t honestly have expected I’d abide to that rule.”

Steve tilts his head. “True. Which is why I got you some stuff as well.”

Tony’s mouth falls open. “Steve  _Rogers,”_ he says, doing his best to sound scandalized, “Are you saying you  _broke a promise,_ how dare you -“

Steve’s laughing as he captures Tony’s mouth with his own. The kiss is awkward, too much teeth and a strange angle, but Tony couldn’t care less. He slips his hand around the back of Steve’s neck and pulls him closer.

 _Happy New Year,_ he thinks.


	74. Snoring and Snuggling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve loves Tony. He really, truly does. More than peppermint mochas. More than his shield. More than life itself.
> 
> But -
> 
> “How the hell do you sleep like this?” Bucky demands. Steve - Steve really doesn't have an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i suck and wrote this instead of the commission i should be working on. IM SORRY
> 
> fluff, established relationship

Steve loves Tony. He really, truly does. More than peppermint mochas. More than his shield. More than life itself.

But -

“How the hell do you sleep like this?” Bucky demands, truly indignant on Steve’s behalf, and Steve - Steve really doesn’t have an answer.

On the bed, Tony continues snoring away, like an airplane roaring in his chest. He’s also sprawled across the bed in possibly the most inconvenient of his favored positions, a sort of asymmetrical spread-eagle shape like a bird tumbling out of the sky.

“Like, really,” Bucky continues. “This is fucking ridiculous.”

“Remind me why you’re in my bedroom again?” Steve asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Because I am concerned for your wellbeing.”

Really, Steve thinks a more accurate assessment would be ‘morbid curiosity’. At the very least, that was the expression that had come across Bucky’s face when he had stepped off the elevator onto Steve and Tony’s shared floor and his ears had immediately perked up.

Bucky had been on Steve and Tony’s floor after dark before, of course, but never when Tony was asleep, because when Tony rested, Steve tended to rest, too. Today, though, Tony had just arrived home from a business trip to China, and jet lag knocked him out almost as soon as he walked in the door at six pm. Steve, not quite tired enough to go to bed just yet, had asked Bucky to come up and watch a movie. His critical mistake: forgetting to close their bedroom door.

“Do you think he has sleep apnea?” Bucky wonders, stepping a little closer to Tony so he can peer down at him not unlike a scientist examining a specimen in a museum. “Like, surely this can’t be normal.”

Steve shrugs. “We don’t think so. He did a sleep study and everything, but they just said he’s a loud sleeper. It might have something to do with the arc reactor, but it’s hard to say when he’s the only person they can study.”

“Yeah,” Bucky hums, leaning back on his heels. “Weird.”

This, of course, is when Tony decides to bolt up in bed, arms outstretched robotically in front of him, and moan, “ _Brains.”_

Bucky shrieks like a little girl and scrambles backward until he slams into Steve. Rolling his eyes, Steve pushes him aside and steps forward so he can take Tony’s hands in his.

“You’re sleepwalking, sweetheart,” Steve says firmly, which is sort of true even though Tony hasn’t technically gotten up. “Go back to bed.”

“ _Brains,”_ Tony groans again, more insistently this time. Steve wonders what zombie flick Tony must have watched on the plane back to trigger this sort of dream. If it was Anna and the Apocalypse, Steve is going to kill him - Tony had promised they could watch that together _._

“I’ll come to bed in just a few minutes,” Steve placates. “How about that? Then you can rest.”

Steve’s still not really sure if Tony understands him like this, but Tony seems to consider before slumping back into the pillows. Either way, Steve’s presence will calm him down; he almost never sleepwalks when Steve is in the bed, and if he tries, Steve can just drape himself over him until he drifts back off to a restful sleep.

Steve turns back to Bucky, who’s still hovering trepidatiously by the wall. “Come on,” Steve murmurs, gesturing Bucky out the door. This time, when they step outside, Steve makes sure to click the door shut behind him, so its sound-dampening properties can take effect.

“How are you so chill about this?” Bucky demands as soon as the door is closed. “Your husband thinks he’s a zombie!”

“Fiancé,” Steve corrects automatically, to which Bucky huffs. “Anyway, I don’t know what to tell you. He always does this. I’ve gotten used to it.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Bucky says immediately. “I know I haven’t been on that many missions with him, but I’ve been on a few and I can promise you he’s never made a sound like  _that_ when we were sharing a room.”

Steve blushes, running a hand across the back of his head. “Well…”

Bucky wrinkles his nose. “Oh, god, it’s sappy, isn’t it? Please don’t tell me it’s sappy.”

“It’s a - comfort, thing,” Steve settles on, ignoring Bucky. “He only sleeps like this when he feels comfortable. So, you know.”

“When he’s with you,” Bucky supplies. Steve nods, and Bucky groans again. “God, you two really are sickening. I’m going back to my floor to find my very appropriate, very non-sappy girlfriend. Good luck with Grizzly in there.”

Steve rolls his eyes but accepts Bucky’s light hug when he offers it. “Jerk,” he says fondly when Bucky pulls away.

“Dumbass,” Bucky retorts. “Still on for a run in the morning?”

“Always,” Steve promises, and offers Bucky a quick wave as the elevator doors close in front of his face.

A few minutes later, Steve’s in his pajamas, crawling into bed beside Tony. Tony’s still snoring at a ridiculously loud decibel, body twisted so that his shins are lying where Steve’s torso is supposed to be. Steve loves him a ridiculous amount. Carefully, he shifts Tony’s body so he can fit under the blankets beside him, settling one hand on Tony’s belly and dipping his head to bury his face in Tony’s hair. As he drifts off to sleep, he thinks, not for the first time, that it’s a good thing the serum reduced his need for sleep.

Without it, Steve would be fucked.


	75. Caterpillars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you think that was part of the serum?” Tony continues. “Magically bushy eyebrows?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship

“Your eyebrows are  _insane.”_

Steve huffs, rolling over to face Tony. He’s sex mussed and sleepy, eyes blinking slowly against the linen pillowcase, and he’s smiling. He’s the most gorgeous thing Steve has ever seen.

Even when he’s running his mouth like this.

“Like, do you think that was part of the serum?” Tony continues. “Magically bushy eyebrows?”

“Pretty sure they’re not that big,” Steve counters.

“Uh, pretty sure you’re wrong. They’re like little strips of velcro. I wonder if they would make a sound if we rubbed them together.

Steve rolls his eyes, but he can’t quite bite back his grin. “Stop it.”

“No, I’m serious, Steve. They’re out of control. There’s even all those stray ones - Alicia would be distraught if she saw the state of your brows, really. You should go with me to get them threaded.”

“I’m not getting them threaded. They’re fine.”

“Well, I can’t live like this, Steve,” Tony says, propping himself up on one elbow so he’s leaning over Steve. “It’s too distracting, I can’t take it. Hold still.”

“What - ow!”

Tony holds up the hair he’d just plucked triumphantly. It’s very crooked, Steve has to admit, kinked like a straw and a paler hue than most of Steve’s hair, so it stands out. “Got you, you little bastard.”

Steve snorts. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Tony confirms, tossing the hair aside to the floor and continuing his prodding of Steve’s brow. “They’re like caterpillars, horned caterpillars. It’s a blight to my eyes. Oh, wait, here’s another one.”

“Tony -“ Steve starts, but is cut off by Tony ripping a particularly well-embedded hair out of his skin. “Ouch.”

Tony ignores him, holding it up to the light. “Jeez, look at that one, that’s practically the length of your head hair.”

“That is head hair,” Steve points out.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Shut up, you know exactly what I mean.”

“Hey, maybe I didn’t,” Steve says, even though yeah, he totally did.

“Stop being a smart ass,” Tony chides, with a tug to Steve’s eyebrows.

“Pretty sure that title belongs to you,” Steve points out.

“Sorry, what was that? I got distracted by this giant feeler,” Tony says, and yanks again at his brows.

Steve sighs, closes his eyes, and resigns himself to baldness.


	76. Iron Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dodger keeps trying to get into fights protecting Tony, and almost gets nicked by more than a few bullets as a result.
> 
> Clearly, there is only one thing Tony can do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship

“Tony, this is ridiculous.”

“ _No_ ,” Tony counters, “This is the only logical thing to do.”

On the table, Dodger yips playfully, squirming under Tony’s palm. “ _Stay,_ Dodger,” Tony says firmly, and, whining slightly, Dodger stills.

“Good boy,” Steve praises, because he’s soft like that, leaning over to scratch behind Dodger’s ears.

“Stop babying him,” Tony grumbles, though he does feel a little better when he sees Dodger’s tail start wagging.

“I’m sorry,  _I’m_ babying him? You’re the one building him a titanium suit of armor.”

“Gold titanium alloy,” Tony corrects automatically, though he’s not sure it really helps his case.

“I mean, what are you even going to do with this? Is it just a cage?”

“Of course not,” Tony says immediately. “I wouldn’t do that to Dodger, he’d get scared.”

“So you’re giving it repulsors, then,” Steve says, eyebrow raised so high Tony thinks it’s about to disappear into his hairline.

“Well…” Tony hedges.

“Oh, my god.  _Tony._ You can’t actually give him repulsors.”

“But I can’t just lock him in a cage!” Tony protests. “And, besides, it’s not like  _he’d_ be piloting it, Jarvis would control it -“

“What is Jarvis going to make it do, huh?” Steve asks. “Is Dodger going to be the Iron Dog, now, along for the ride?”

“Not if he doesn’t want to be,” Tony mumbles.

Steve poor attempt at a serious expression melts into a smile when he huffs out a laugh. “Tony,” he says, stepping forward to slip his hands around Tony’s waist. “Our son cannot be a superhero.”

“He’s not our son,” Tony says, like he always does. “And I don’t think you can make that decision for him, Steve. This is like Peter all over again. He’s going to go into battle protected or not, so we better make sure he’s taken care of.”

“It’s not kidnapping for us to lock Dodger up to keep him away from fights,” Steve points out.

“So he’s your son but not a kid,” Tony says. “I see how it is.”

Steve, unsurprisingly, rolls his eyes. “You’re ridiculous,” he says. “Have I told you that, recently? Absolutely ridiculous.”

“You love my ridiculousness,” Tony counters, nestling a little closer to Steve, so their noses are almost brushing.

“Debatable,” Steve says, but doesn’t resist when Tony finally closes the distance between them to kiss him. His mouth is soft and warm, and when Tony pulls back he rests their foreheads together.

“No Iron Dog,” Steve says firmly.

“Killjoy,” Tony grumbles. “Fine. No dog superhero. But I am finishing this suit. We can’t let him almost get shot again.”

“Fair,” Steve agrees. Tony is opening his mouth to ask what that means about the repulsors - they certainly seem a necessary measure, in the interests of safety _-_ when he’s cut off my Dodger’s sloppy tongue all over his face.

“Oh, jesus,” Tony groans, leaning away even as Steve laughs and directs Dodger’s kisses towards himself.

“Oh, good boy, you’re such a good boy,” Steve coos, and Dodger woofs and wags his tail a little harder.

Tony’s family is a disaster. This is what he’s gotten himself into.

Ridiculous.


	77. Don't Be a Bother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey, baby,” Tony purrs, settling onto the stool next to Steve. “How you doing tonight?”
> 
> Steve rolls his eyes. “Stop it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship

“Hey, baby,” Tony purrs, settling onto the stool next to Steve. “How you doing tonight?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Stop it.”

“Oh, come on, honey, don’t be like that,” Tony wheedles. He lays his hand over Steve’s, strokes it slowly up his arm. “We could have some fun, you and me.”

Steve has to consciously suppress the urge to face palm. “Not if you keep acting like this.”

“How do you want me to act, baby? You want something more kinky?” Tony trails his finger up Steve’s arm, hovering at the crook of his elbow. Despite himself, it sends shivers up Steve’s spine. “Or something more sweet?”

“I want you to stop,” Steve says firmly, shaking Tony’s hand loose.

Tony pouts. “You’re a strict one, aren’t you, baby? Let me get you a drink, help you loosen up. What do you want, vodka tonic?”

He doesn’t wait for Steve’s confirmation before disappearing from his stool, moving around to the other side where the bartender is infatuated with a group of scantily clad college girls.

“That guy bothering you?”

Steve turns his head at the sound, sure the person isn’t talking to him, but sure enough, there’s a big, beefy guy standing at his shoulder, frowning across the bar at Tony. Steve follows his gaze, watching the way Tony winks and flirts with the bartender to get moved up the list.

“Yeah,” Steve admits, “But he’s my husband, so I signed up for this.”

“Oh,” the stranger says, visibly surprised. “Sorry, I just - just wanted to make sure he wasn’t harassing you.”

“I appreciate it,” Steve says. “You’re a good guy. You like vodka?”

“Uh, sure,” the stranger says, still visibly unsettled. Just then, Tony returns, sashaying his hips deliberately as he walks.

“Here you go, sweetheart,” he purrs, pressing a cold glass into Steve’s hand. “Your favorite.”

“Thanks, honey,” Steve says, and immediately passes the drink over to protective stranger dude.

“Hey,” Tony protests immediately. “I got that for you. Who’s this?”

Steve turns to the stranger and raises his brows.

“Uh, Mike,” the stranger - Mike - says. “Anyway, I should just be going. Uh, thanks for the drink?”

“No problem,” Steve says, offering him a warm smile. Tentatively, Mike mirrors it back, before disappearing into the crowd.

“Who was that?” Tony asks again, when Mike is out of earshot. “You trying to pick someone else up?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. He thought you were harassing me, wanted to make sure I was okay.”

Tony laughs. “Oh, jeez. Poor guy. What did he say when you told him we were married?”

“He looked very confused,” Steve says. “Most husbands probably don’t harass each other like you do.”

“Hey, you love it.”

Steve wants to protest, but can’t quite make the lie pass his lips. “Yeah, yeah,” he settles for eventually.

From Tony’s grin, he knows exactly what Steve means. “Hey, wanna go dance?”

Steve shrugs and climbs offf his stool. “Why not.”

He lets Tony tug him into the crowd.


	78. Eggy Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony make breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, estabished relationship
> 
> commisson for iggysassous

“Hey, only one egg yolk a day,” Steve says when he sees Tony cracking open another egg shell on the countertop. “And save it for me, I’m making custard.”

Tony sticks out his tongue at him but obligingly separates the yolk from the white and tosses the shell into the sink. “You want any?”

“So you can get an excuse to add cheese to your breakfast?” Steve asks with a raised brow. “No, thank you.”

“Oh, please. If I wanted cheese with my breakfast, I would have cheese with my breakfast. I was just trying to do something nice for my husband, make him some breakfast on this cold Saturday morning, and now - this? Where’s the trust, huh? Where’s the trust?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says. “We probably should have figured that out before we got married.”

“Probably,” Tony agrees. He passes the well-beaten eggs to Steve across the stovetop, their fingers brushing over the bowl. “You want yogurt?”

“Yes, please,” Steve says, as he tips the eggs into a hot pan. “Key lime. And raspberries.”

Tony ducks around Steve to the refrigerator to find the last bits of food. As embarrassing as it is to admit it, he loves the easy domesticity of mornings like this, the comfortable dance of married life. When he was younger, he’d always imagined that sort of routine would be boring. After all, how exciting could life with one singular person really be, especially after so many years together? Wasn’t it bound to become constricting?

In truth, it was anything but, and occasionally Tony wished he could go back in time and tell his younger self so, with the aim of reigning in some of his more rebellious stages. Then again, if Tony hadn’t been so wild, maybe he wouldn’t have ended up here, and that’s the last thing he wants.

“You made coffee, right?” Tony confirms as he sets the (regrettably) sugar-free ketchup out on the kitchen table.

“Yep,” Steve confirms.

“Caffeinated?”

“Half-caffeinated,” Steve says.

Tony grumbles but doesn’t really protest. “One day I’ll find the secret to eternal youth and I’ll get all my junk food back. Just you wait, Rogers, it’ll stun everyone.”

“Uh huh,” Steve says agreeably as he tips steaming eggs out onto a plate. Onto another plate, he spoons out heapfuls of his favorite sausage-potato skillet. When the doctors had first told Tony he needed to eat healthier, Steve had done the same in a show of solidarity. It became quickly obvious, though, that the rabbity-health foods that were ideal to sustain Tony’s aging body weren’t as efficient at maintaining the 10,000-calorie-a-day metabolism of a super-soldier, and rather quickly, Steve had had to revert to his old fattier, sugarier, generally more delicious diet.

“Here you go,” Steve says, dropping the plate in front of Tony and a kiss on his cheek.

Tony turns into it, catching Steve on the mouth. “Thank you,” he murmurs when their lips part. Steve smiles at him, his eyes warm and hair fluffy-soft, as he takes his spot across from Tony at the little table.

They eat their breakfasts together in relative silence apart from the occasional sounds of utensils clinking and Steve’s jaw popping when he chomps down on toast. Steve reads the Sports and Arts section of the newspaper, while Tony briefly peruses the Business page before turning to his tablet and scanning through the fifty-seven emails that had arrived in his inbox overnight. The whole time, Steve and Tony’s feet knock together under the table, a shadow game of footsie that sends shivers up Tony’s spine every time Steve’s socked toes stroke up his ankles.

Outside the window, frozen rain shoots down towards the pavement, ready to plague passerby and send cars careening towards a crash. Inside, though, Tony is warm and full and unalone. Across from Tony, Steve frowns down at his crossword puzzle, brow creasing so deeply he looks like an old man. Tony hides his smile behind his mug of under-caffeinated coffee and takes another forkful of his mediocre breakfast. It’s a good day, Tony thinks. Or, rather: a good life.


	79. Somebody to Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is in love with Steve, and Steve doesn’t love him back.
> 
> Of the first fact, Tony is 100% sure. Of the second fact he is - slightly less positive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, ambiguous ending

Tony is in love with Steve, and Steve doesn’t love him back.

Of the first fact, Tony is 100% sure. It’s impossible not to be: anyone could see it, even Bruce, who is dense about love at the best of times. Tony just can’t help himself. He melts when Steve tosses stale bread out onto the landing pad for the pigeons, fawns over Steve’s intricate cartoons of his team members - hell, his Grinch heart grows three sizes any time Steve so much as smiles at him. There’s no denying it, all right: Tony is in love with Steve.

Of the second fact he is - slightly less sure.

He’s fairly certain Steve doesn’t love him. After all, why would he? It’s not that Tony thinks he’s unlovable or anything like that. He has his merits, chief among them extensive sexual experience and an ability to make even the most awkward conversations flow easily. But there’s a bold line between ‘lovable’ and ‘loved by a particular person, at a particular time’ and Tony - Tony’s not confident he’s crossed that line.

“You should tell him,” Rhodey says one afternoon when he’s visiting Tony for armor upgrades. (Only ever comes home when he wants something; Tony feels like the parent of a college student, always hoping they’ll come home for more than to get their laundry done.)

“Tell who what?” Tony asks absently as he messes with the hinges on Rhodey’s chest plate.

“Tell Steve you’re in love with him,” Rhodey says. That gets Tony’s attention, and he drops his hands from Rhodey’s chest, looking up to meet Rhodey’s gaze. Rhodey is serious, eyebrows drawn. “He might feel the same way.”

Tony stares at Rhodey for a long moment, trying to figure out how to respond. “He doesn’t,” he says finally. “He’s - he hasn’t acted like he likes me at all. Trust me, Rhodey. I know what attraction looks like, and this isn’t it.”

Rhodey shrugs. “Okay, let’s say you’re right, and he isn’t interested. What happens then? He says no? You’ll have a bit of an awkward patch, sure, but you two can get through it.”

“It’s not worth it, though,” Tony argues. “I mean, all that, just for a rejection? It’s better for everyone if I just - keep this to myself. He wouldn’t want to know.”

“What would you do if Thor told you he was in love with you?”

Tony blinks at the sudden change in topic. “Uh. Ride him like a pony?”

Rhodey rolls his eyes. “Seriously, Tones.”

Tony shrugs. “Seriously? Maybe go on a date with him, see how it goes. Maybe say no. Probably try to ride him like a pony.”

“But you’d be flattered, wouldn’t you?” Rhodey presses.

“Of course I would be flattered,” Tony says. “He’s a god, anyone would be flattered if he said he was interested in them.”

“Anyone would be flattered if anyone said they were interested in them, period,” Rhodey corrects. “I mean, not being pushy, but. Who wouldn’t want to know that someone was in love with them?”

Tony stops to think about it. It does make sense, in a way - excepting stalkers and the like, there’s an undeniable warmth that comes with being loved, with knowing that someone close to you sees you and loves all that they see. “You really think so?”

Rhodey shrugs, an almost imperceptible movement under the heavy armor. “Yeah, I do. Sometimes people need to be reminded that people love them. Telling them that you’re one of those people - it can’t hurt. But a secret could come back to bite you.”

Tony bites his lip, thinking. Seeming to take pity on him, Rhodey says, “Anyway, it’s just something to think about. Get back to fixing the chestplate, it’s starting to bite at my stomach.”

“That’s all those extra cinnamon rolls, honey bear,” Tony says, ands does just that, but he’s distracted the rest of the night, thinking about what Rhodey said. He makes a good point, but it’s a pretty terrifying point: after all, where does it put Tony? Right on the edge of rejection, about to get his heart stomped on and fragile hopes dashed? It doesn’t sound particularly appealing.

Two days later, Tony is still thinking about it when he steps into Steve’s studio to see if he wants to grab lunch. Steve is painting, and as he steps out of the way to wet his brush, Tony catches a glimpse of the canvas. It’s a glorious, abstract depiction of a city, buildings white and black crashing together under a blood red sky. It’s violent, but hopeful, too, like a particularly passionate sunrise, like the vibrance of the world got away from it.

Tony must make a sound, because Steve whirls around, alertness melting into pleased surprise when he spots Tony in the doorway. “Tony,” he says.

“Hey,” Tony says. “I was just wondering if you wanted to grab dinner.”

“Sure,” Steve says, turning back to his canvas. “Let me just finish this one section here before the paint all dries.”

He moves gracefully, even when he’s painting. The easy sweep of his brush, the minute tensions in his back, the curve on his neck as he bends over the canvas -

There’s music playing in the background, Tony realizes. It’s a band Tony introduced Steve to, actually - Queen _,_ Freddie Mercury crooning along to instrumentals that are, in many ways, quintessential 70s rock. Tony’s favorite kind of music.

 _Find me somebody to love,_ Freddie sings.  _Find me somebody to love. Find me somebody to love._

_Can anyone find me somebody to love?_

“I love you,” Tony says suddenly.

The words feel like a punch of air leaving Tony’s lips, and he couldn’t take them back even if he wanted to. He doesn’t want to.  _I love him,_ he thinks. He’s tired of hiding it.

Steve is frozen in place by the canvas, paintbrush stilled in his hand. Tony ploughs on, undeterred. He feels like he’s grasped clarity, and he needs to get this out before he loses it again, goes back to his old fearful existence. “I love you, Steve. I want you to know that. That - that you are loved. You’re loved. It doesn’t matter if you don’t love me back. I want you to know.”

Steve turns slowly. His eyes are wide, his brows pinched just slightly. Tony’s heart sings at the sight of him, this wonderful, beautiful, lovable man.  _I have someone to love,_ Tony thinks. What an amazing feeling that is. Wouldn’t Freddie be jealous.

Steve opens his mouth to speak.


	80. Dancing Monkey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Steve says after he punches in the wrong code for the third time in a row.
> 
> “I’m sorry, sir,” Jarvis says, sounding genuinely contrite. “Regrettably, after three incorrect attempts I must bar you from the lab.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship
> 
> inspired by this post here: http://nasafic.tumblr.com/post/181934591135/whipbogard-im-looking-at-this-gif-and-laughing

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Steve says after he punches in the wrong code for the third time in a row.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Jarvis says, sounding genuinely contrite. “Regrettably, after three incorrect attempts I must bar you from the lab.”

“Come on, Jarvis,” Steve complains. “It’s _me.”_

“This policy was your suggestion, sir,” Jarvis reminds him, as if he’d forgotten. Steve curses his stupid, overprotective past self. _But what if a Skrull gets in, Tony? What if I’m mind controlled or under the influence of some weird alien substance? Stranger things have happened!_

Stranger things _have_ happened, but more mundane things too: things like Steve, distracted and tired, typing in the code wrong one too many times, while his husband sat in the lab, blasting music so loudly he was unable to hear the banging on his door.

“Can you get Tony’s attention?” Steve tries. “Stop the music, or something.”

“Sir has placed me on mute,” Jarvis says. “He is in do not disturb mode.”

Steve huffs. “Natasha, then. Get Natasha, or Bruce, or whoever’s not busy, and have them come let me in.”

“As I have stated, Mr. Stark is in do not disturb mode. All passcodes other than your own will be rejected.”

“Jesus Christ.” All Steve wants to do is go in and give Tony a good hug, maybe drag him up for dinner. Is that so much to ask?

Even though he knows it won’t work, he can’t help but bang on the door. “Tony! Tony!”

“Excuse me, Captain, but at that force the door will break in four more beats.”

“Fuck.” Steve steps back from the door; he wants to get in, not make a mess. “Tony! Tony! Hey!” Tony’s facing away from Steve, but at an angle; if Steve makes enough of a commotion, maybe Tony will catch it out of the corner of his eye.

“Tony!” Steve calls, waving his arms in the air. “Tony!” He knows he doesn’t need to shout, but the waving in silence feels weird, somehow, like one of the perpetually-grinning Disney mascots that always give Steve the chills. “Tony, look at _meeee!”_

The waving clearly isn’t working, so he transitions into jumping jacks, and then a sort of half-jig, half-dance. It’s not until he starts a truly embarrassing, musical-theater type pinwheel that Tony finally glances up from his work and over at Steve. For a moment, he just looks surprised, but his expression quickly rotates through the whole gambit of emotions: confusion, concern, understanding, glee. He says something, something Steve can’t make out, but clearly it’s to Jarvis because a moment later, the intercom clicks on.

“Practicing for a recital? I think you look great, sweetheart, but there are better places to rehearse.”

Steve lets his hands fall to his sides. “I got locked out.”

“I see that,” Tony says. “Would you have tried ballet next?”

Steve shrugs. “Let me in and I’ll tell you.”

Tony grins at him. His features are made more distant through the glass, but even from here Steve can tell his crows feet are crinkling, and his smile is warm. “Come here, baby,” he says, and the door clicks open.

Steve heads inside.


	81. The Burn of Whiskey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can’t do this anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst, angst, more angst

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Tony isn’t facing Steve when he says it; he’s sprawled on the floor, leaning against the couch, staring determinately at the blank wall. The lab is quiet aside from the sound of Tony’s ragged breathing and, in Steve’s ears, the rapid beat of his own heart.

Steve rounds the couch to look at Tony, but still Tony doesn’t turn. From here, Steve can see Tony’s profile, can see the tiny wobble to his lips like he’s trying not to cry. “I know today was rough,” he says.

“This isn’t about today,” Tony says. “I was going to do this anyway.”

“I don’t believe you,” Steve says.

“I don’t care.” Tony blinks and turns, finally, to face Steve. His eyes are wet, but his jaw is set in it’s usual stubborn line. “I don’t want to be with you anymore. That’s it. End of story.”

Steve’s feels alert, like he’s back on the battlefield. He can tell this moment is important, that he has to get it right, but already he can feel it slipping away from him, like water through fingers.

“If you’re serious, and this isn’t about today, then why do you want to break up with me?” he challenges.

“Well, it’s not you, darling, I can tell you that. The problem is me. Most cliche thing ever, but, fuck if it isn’t true.”

“Tony -”

“I was never meant to have this,” Tony bulldozes on. “I was never - this was never in the cards for me. It just doesn’t fit. I’m not meant for this, Steve. Relationships - well. We know how good I am at those. It was a fever dream, thinking this would ever work.”

“Nothing is broken, Tony,” Steve presses. “I know - look, today was a bad day, I’ll admit. I’m sorry I lashed out at you like that, and I’m - I’m sorry I yelled, but a few fights doesn’t ruin a relationship. People fight. It happens.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Tony says quietly.

“I’m not lying.”

“No?” Tony asks with a raised eyebrow. “So you really are sorry? You think I made the right call, today, disobeying your orders? You think it’s not my fault that that kid died, you think if I had done what you asked he wouldn’t still be alive, his mother’s heart wouldn’t be broken, his friends and family and community wouldn’t be fucking torn to shit over a meaningless death that shouldn’t have happened -”

“Stop!” Steve practically shouts. He takes a deep breath, trying to get himself under control. “Stop,” he says again. “It wasn’t your fault, Tony.”

“Yeah, right,” Tony snorts. “We both know that’s a lie.”

“It’s not a lie,” Steve says firmly. “Look, do I wish you had followed my orders? Yeah, I do. But this isn’t the first time you’ve disobeyed me in the field. You used to do it so often, don’t you remember? But you’re getting better. You’re finding your weaknesses and working on them, just like I am, just like Nat is, just like every decent person should be because that’s all people can do. We can’t be perfect, but we can try.”

“Is that it?” Tony asks. “Is that why you’re still here? Some misguided hope that I’ll get better, be the perfect person you deserve?”

It never fails to infuriate Steve, how Tony’s gorgeous, brilliant mind can twist anything to fit his purposes. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“No?” Tony asks. “How do you feel about this, then?” And he raises a bottle of jack that was previously hiding behind his body and takes a swig.

Steve feels his heart stutter in his chest.

Tony’s drinking, he thinks. Oh, god, Tony’s drinking. This is so much worse than he realized. Almost two years sober and this is what breaks him: a mistake, a fight, a combination of ills compounded, not helped, by Steve. Steve, his partner, the man who is supposed to support him through his difficulties, now becoming the cause of them.

Steve’s words from earlier play back in his head in sudden, sharp relief. This is why you need to follow orders, Tony! he had yelled, one hand waving behind him at the rubble mess of the collapsed building, somewhere under its foundations the body of a teenage boy who couldn’t get out in time. If you had just followed orders, we wouldn’t be here!

Tony had stayed silent throughout the reprimand, peeling away wordlessly when Steve’s diatribe finally ended. He’d been quiet in the SHIELD conference room, too, during the debrief, and really, Steve should have known then. Tony’s been stewing in this all afternoon, for hours, not just the mistake but Steve’s words and his anger, and Steve -

Steve is what has broken him.

“Tony,” Steve hears himself say, as if through water. “Tony, you’re -”

“Still an alcoholic, despite all appearances,” Tony says. “Yes I am. Still an asshole, too, even if I’ve gotten better at pretending to be nice to you. Still arrogant, and still selfish, and still unable to play well with others. Nothing’s changed, darling. I’m the same man I’ve always been, just playing a new role.”

“That’s not true,” Steve protests automatically, even though he can’t take his eyes off the bottle in Tony’s hand. He shouldn’t even have that here, Steve finds himself thinking - he had promised Steve he’d gotten rid of his stash months ago, before they even started dating, back when Tony first decided to try to go sober.

“But it is,” Tony says. He takes another swig of the jack before setting it down on the floor and heaving himself to his feet. He moves slowly, heavily, limbs hanging just a bit too loose. He’s not just drinking, he’s drunk, only a few glasses away from wasted.

And Steve got him here.

“Tony,” Steve says again, “I’m sorry -” Sorry I failed you, sorry I’m the reason you felt you had to drink, sorry I didn’t do more -

But Tony just shakes his head. “Stop apologizing and go,” he says.

Steve doesn’t move.

“I don’t want you here,” Tony says. His voice has gone cold, but his eyes don’t match. His eyes are sharp and burning pain, like it hurts just to be in the same room as Steve. Tony’s breaking up with Steve because he thinks he’s not good enough, Steve knows - because they fought, because he thinks it won’t work, because he thinks he’s not good for each other - and for the first time, he actually wonders if he’s right. Not that Tony’s not good enough, but that Steve’s not enough. Or, more than that, if they’re both perfectly adequate people, but simply don’t fit together, just make each other’s lives worse. Maybe this wasn’t meant to be. Maybe Tony’s reasons are wrong, but his conclusion is right. Maybe it’s time they try to spare themselves future pain.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. “I really am sorry.”

“Get out,” Tony says, turning back towards the couch, sliding down heavily until he’s once more sitting on the floor. He picks up the bottle. “Just go.”

Steve does.


	82. Honey, You're Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve comes home from a long mission to find Tony totally engrossed in his work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship, hurt/comfort

“I want a fucking nap.”

Steve would snort if he had the energy, but as it is, all he manages is a weak half-sigh. “Join the club.”

They’ve been awake for almost fifty hours now, battling vampires in Transylvania of all things, and at this point they’re running on spite more than actual energy. Not for the first time, Steve wishes Tony could have accompanied them on this mission. Unfortunately, it wasn’t high-profile enough to merit Iron Man, and besides, Tony’s got a major shareholders meeting next week and an overdue upgrade for the StarkPhone OS that he has to work on. He has better things to do than hold Steve’s hand while he stakes some vampires.

Still, it would have been nice to have him there, and Steve thinks it will be nice to have him back, if this damn Quinjet ever gets back to Stark Tower. They’re forgoing debrief today, Hill having called in and informed them they should get a good night’s sleep, they’d talk tomorrow. Now, Steve knows there’s nothing but physical distance separating him from Tony, and if anything, it makes it even harder to wait. He just wants to be home already.

Just as he’s thinking this, and wondering if it’s time he let Tony make him an Iron Man suit - strictly for travel, of course, as Steve doesn’t need it in battle but it can reach much faster speeds than the bulky Quinjet - Jarvis comes over the loudspeaker. “You will be landing in five minutes,” he says, with his usual assuredness. “Please prepare for landing.”

“Thank fuck,” Clint groans.

“Looks like it’s raining,” Natasha notes from the cockpit. “Better prepare for a bumpy one, boys.”

Natasha is right - it is a rough landing. Clint bangs his head on the ceiling and Steve almost elbows himself in the dick. Still, it’s got nothing on the roughest landing of Steve’s life, and soon enough, he’s tumbling out of the Quinjet, across the roof, and into the warmth of the Tower.

“Get some sleep,” Steve tells Nat and Clint, but they don’t show any signs they’ve heard him, already stumbling off in the direction of their rooms. Steve doesn’t blame him; he makes a beeline for the elevator, not even bothering to push a floor button. He knows Jarvis will take him where he needs to go.

Sure enough, when the doors slide open, they reveal the glass walls of the workshop. Through the door, nestled between the crooked form of Dummy and the more elegant, rich lines of the armor, Steve can just spot a tuft of dark hair. He smiles.

“Do we still have food in the fridge, Jarvis?” Steve asks, as he presses his palm against the scanner.

“Yes, sir,” Jarvis says. “Not much of nutritional value is left, unfortunately, but there is wine, and several boxes of stale crackers.”

Steve snorts as the door slides open, blasting Steve with the true chaos of the lab. Queen is singing in the forefront, high and loud, and behind that Steve can make out the whirring and hammering of metal against metal. He heads for the fridge, figuring Tony will spot him eventually.

But he doesn’t. Today seems to be one of those days when Tony is so drawn into a project that he completely forgets the outside world, because Steve gets out the wine, and glasses, lays out crackers and blankets and pops the cork on their dinner and still Tony doesn’t so much as glance up from the part of the armor he’s working on. Steve thinks it might be the chestplate he’s messing with, but it could be any number of things: Steve has an eidetic memory, but even that’s not enough to keep up with the pure complexity of something invented by Tony Stark.

“Jarvis, mute,” Steve says, and the music abruptly stops. Still, Tony doesn’t so much as glance up from his work. It’s a good thing, Steve thinks, that Tony has such advanced security systems in place; without them, someone could walk in, steal all his tech, and stab him in the back, and as long as they didn’t mess with the particular display he’s engrossed in, he would be none the wiser.

“Tony,” Steve tries. Still nothing. “Hey, Tony. Husband. My husband Tony. Earth to Tony.”

Nothing.

Steve sighs and sets the now-full glasses down on the coffee table. “What am I going to do with you,” he mutters, but he can’t quite bite back the smile tugging at his lips as he crosses the room towards where Tony sits. “Tony. Tony. Tony.”

“Mmh,” Tony mumbles, “Just a minute, Jarvis, I’m in the middle of -” He trails off again, with seeming renewed focus on the screwdriver in his hand.

For a second, Steve considers leaving him be. He’s clearly deep into whatever he’s doing, after all, and it might be important. But the thought only lasts a second before Steve’s brushing it away: he’s been gone almost a week, now, and he’s tired and sore and just wants to spend time with his husband. Sue him. Tony’s tech can wait.

So he settles his hands on Tony’s shoulders and leans in close. “Guess who?”

Tony jumps a bit under Steve’s touch, but quickly he’s turning, breaking out into a smile when he sees Steve. “Honey!” he exclaims, immediately leaning up for a kiss. Steve grants it easily, and Tony tucks up against him when it ends, settling his hands on Steve’s hips. “You’re home.”

“I’m home,” Steve agrees. “I was thinking you could take a break, maybe we could have something to eat -”

But Tony’s frowning, now, and when Steve tries to turn to gesture to the food spread out behind him, Tony holds him back. “Honey,” he says, stern now. “What happened to you? What are all these cuts from?”

Steve bats Tony’s hands away as they come up to prod at the scratches on his face. “It’s fine,” he insists, “Just got a little banged up by some claws, it’s nothing. They’ll be healed in a couple hours.”

But Tony is still frowning as he cups Steve’s jaw in his hands, tilting his face this and that way so he can see him from all angles. Steve gives in to the examination; he’s learned, over time, that resistance just leads to a grumpy Tony and longer delays.

Finally, Tony stops picking, though his stubborn frown doesn’t budge. “Come here,” he says, leading Steve over to the couch he’d just set up. “Sit down, relax. Is this all the food we have?”

“Yeah, Jarvis said you went through everything else,” Steve says, flopping heavily down onto the couch.

“Well, that’s not good,” Tony says, glaring down at the spread. “Um, Jarvis, order - what are you in the mood for, baby? Pizza? Chinese?”

“Whatever,” Steve says. “Just come here.”

He holds his arm out pointedly, and Tony sighs, and sags down beside him. “Order us a pizza, Jarvis,” he says. “From the good place. A few of them, whatever you think Steve’ll eat.”

“Certainly, sir,” Jarvis replies immediately. “Shall I send Dummy to the lobby to await delivery?”

“Yeah,” Tony agrees, and with a whirr and the sound of something crashing, Dummy is off.

“Nice of you to let him do that,” Steve notes, as he watches the elevator doors close behind Dummy’s bobbing back. “I bet you just made his week.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t have too many other options,” Tony admits. At Steve’s questioning glane, he continues, “I may have alienated almost everyone in the Tower while I was waiting for you to come home. I was a little…  concerned for you.”

“Oh, Tony,” Steve sighs, pulling Tony a little closer until Tony rests his head on Steve’s shoulder, a warm and welcome weight. “When are you going to learn to stop stressing about things you can’t control?”

“Never,” Tony says immediately. “At least not where you’re concerned. Not thinking about you - it’s not really an option, Steve.”

Steve sighs. “You’re going to give yourself a heart attack.”

“Yeah, well,” Tony shrugs. “I’m probably due for one anyway.”

“You know, that doesn’t exactly make me feel any better.”

“I’m fine,” Tony says, shifting down on Steve’s chest so his head is over Steve’s heart. “You’re fine. You know how I know? ‘Cause I can hear your heartbeat.”

Steve tangles his fingers in Tony’s hair, one finger pressing down a little more firmly on the nape of Tony’s neck. He can feel it there, too, under the surface of Tony’s skin; his heart thumping loud and proud, strong and unceasing.

“You always have had a heartbeat kink,” Steve jokes to break the heavy silence.

Tony huffs, smacking Steve lightly. “I just like knowing you’re safe,” he says, voice muffled against Steve’s shirt. “I’m so sorry for the offense.”

“Well,” Steve says, feeling his heart swell in his chest. “I guess I can let it go. This time.”

“Thank you for your generosity,” Tony murmurs. He’s drifting off fast, Steve can tell; he probably hasn’t slept well since Steve left for the mission, and besides that, he looked like he was on a workshop binge when Steve popped in.

Steve considers taking Tony up to bed but this couch is comfortable, and he, too, is tired. He finds his eyes drifting close of their own accord, the cliff of sleep so close. Tony is warm in his arms, soft hair curling under Steve’s fingers, his breath ghosting over Steve’s collarbones, and Steve thinks, I love you, a distant thought like driftwood down a stream, and drops off to sleep.

They eat the pizza for breakfast.


	83. Bohemian Rhapsody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve hears Queen for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship
> 
> I'm having a queen kick, so sue me

It starts when Tony asks Jarvis to pull up his favorites playlist.

“Throw on something I haven’t played in a while, J,” he orders, shaking some salt into his cooking scrambled eggs. “Like, 70s, maybe.”

“I have just the thing, sir,” Jarvis says easily, and a moment later, the beginning notes of Bohemian Rhapsody float out from the speakers.

“What’s this song?” Steve asks, from where he’s sitting over at the breakfast table, shoveling down his second bowl of Lucky Charms. “I’ve never heard it before.”

“Thank god I’m here to introduce you to it, then, because this baby’s a classic. Crank the volume, Jay.”

Jarvis obliges, and the sound of Freddie Mercury crooning fills the whole room, rounding out it’s corners and weighing down the air with song. Tony hums along, swaying his hips a bit as he turns his eggs over in the pan. The first guitar solo of the song is just starting as Tony finally dumps out his breakfast on a plate and turns to join Steve at the table.

Only Steve - Steve’s not eating his breakfast anymore. He’s got his eyes closed, palms spread flat on the sleek wood, wearing an expression Tony only recognizes from the bedroom.

“Uh, Steve?” Tony tries, only to get immediately and vigorously shushed.

_Galileo, Galileo, Galileo!_

_“_ Steve-”

“I’m having a religious experience, give me a minute.”

Tony’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, but he obliges, sitting down beside Steve and taking care to eat his eggs quietly, no sound of utensils scrapping against the plate.

Steve’s expression doesn’t change until the song starts to end. _Nothing really matters,_ Freddie sings, _any way the wind blows._ Steve’s brow furrows and his lips genuinely starts to shake. It’s only when the song drifts off into merciful silence - god bless Jarvis and his uncanny ability to read a room - that Steve opens his eyes and looks at Tony. He looks like he’s about to cry.

“Steve,” Tony says, aghast. “I - holy shit, are you okay?”

“That song is incredible,” Steve says hoarsely. “Jesus. Who was that by?”

“Queen,” Tony replies automatically, “One of the biggest rock bands ever, but seriously, Steve, you look upset -”

“That was incredible,” Steve says. “I mean - oh my god, Tony. That was _incredible._ It’s like - like opera, you know, all the voices and the changes and, and -”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Yeah, I know. They were really special.”

Steve shakes his head, almost in disbelief. “You’re telling me. God. Jarvis, play another one, would you?”

“Are you sure you don’t need a minute?” Tony asks skeptically, but Steve just reaches out and grabs Tony’s hand in his.

“I’m ready. Hit it.”

_Can anybody find me somebody to love?_

Well, Tony, at least, has that covered. He squeezes Steve’s hand in his own and leans back to listen.


	84. Shh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is quiet inside the AIDS ward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted for fandom stocking
> 
> angst, established relationship, aids, major character death

“I love you,” Steve manages.

“Oh, darling,” Tony sighs - or chokes, really, his breath bubbling up out of him like tar. “You needn’t be so dramatic.”

It is quiet inside the AIDS ward.

Steve slides his palm over Tony’s, a rough feeling like papers rustling together. Tony’s hands are so cold, now; over the last few days, as his pneumonia has worsened, his circulation has deteriorated and his limbs have slowly turned to ice, calcifying into their final forms. Steve’s ring gleams on Tony’s finger, it’s own type of final form. Steve still doesn’t know if Tony wants to wear it to the grave, or if Steve should save it, hang it around his neck. He feels like he doesn’t know much at all.

“I do love you, though,” Steve says. “I want you to know that.”

“I’m not dying just yet,” Tony says.

When? Steve wants to demand. Not of Tony, but of the world: when? When are you taking this beautiful man away from me? How long do we have left?

“Besides,” Tony rasps, before breaking off to cough, a hacking, strained thing. Steve splays his hand over Tony’s back, supporting him gently as he feels Tony’s body shake like it’s ready to come apart in his arms. Finally, the coughing stops, and Steve raises a tissue to Tony’s lips, wiping away the fresh blood that wets his lips.

“Besides,” Tony repeats, voice stronger this time. “I know you, darling.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Tony smiles at him. Even with his face drawn sallow by illness, the sickly grey tinge to his skin, he looks beautiful. He’ll always be beautiful, even when he’s a corpse rotting in the ground. Some things about him will never change: his beauty, his laugh lines, the warmth of his eyes. Like a welcoming bath: a pool Steve would gladly drown in.

“It means I know,” Tony says. “I know.”

Steve grips Tony’s hand a little tighter. “Tony -“

“Shh,” Tony murmurs. “Shh, sweetheart. It’s okay.” Only then does Steve realize he’s shaking. Tony rubs his thumb across the back of Steve’s hand, touch so light it might as well be from a ghost. “It’s all okay.”

“I love you,” Steve hears himself say again. He feels like he’s fallen outside of his body, like he’s floating somewhere above himself in this dark, quiet room. Tony is his tether; even the thought of him gone leaves Steve unseated. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to bear this.

“I love you, too,” Tony says. Steve presses his eyes closed against hot tears, leaning forward to rest his head on Tony’s stomach. Tony’s hand settles in Steve’s hair, weak but still so dextrous, as delicate now as he’s ever been. “Shh, darling. Shh.”

(Tony dies three days later, on a Wednesday. Steve is there when he goes. “I love you,” he tells Tony’s unconscious body as his heartbeats stutter and stop. “It’s okay. Shh.”)


	85. Sudden Cardiac Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s Tony’s heart,” Natasha interrupts. “Tony had a heart attack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for rainbowliebe
> 
> established relationship, hurt/comfort, angst w/ a happy ending, medical talk

The first thing Natasha says when Steve picks up the phone is, “Don’t panic,” which of course means Steve starts panicking immediately.

“What happened?” he demands, already yanking on his shoes. “Is someone hurt? Is it Tony?”

“Everyone will be fine,” Natasha says instead of answering, which really doesn’t help Steve any. “There was an incident, but we’re at the hospital, and it’s going to be okay.”

“What do you mean, an incident?” Steve asks. “If it was Clint fucking around with the knives again, I swear to god -”

“It’s Tony’s heart,” Natasha interrupts. “Tony had a heart attack.”

Steve’s stomach drops to the floor.

“He - what?” Steve fumbles for words. “What happened? Is he conscious? How long was he having symptoms? How are they treating him?”

“Breathe,” Natasha commands, but Steve can’t listen to her. All he can think about is Tony lying alone in some busy hospital emergency room, probably pale and shaky, trying to maintain a smile even though he’s confided to Steve that thinking of his heart at all scares him, that it reminds him too much of that dark period of palladium poisoning, when his body was broken, too twisted to fix.

“- sending you a car, you shouldn’t be driving right now -”

Finally, Natasha’s words register, and Steve snaps a little bit out of his horrible waking nightmare. “No,” he says, “No, I’m going myself, what hospital are you at?”

“Steve, we both know that’s not a good idea -”

“I’m not going to wait for a damn driver when my boyfriend has had a heart attack! Where are you?”

A sigh, crackly over the phone. “Mount Sinai,” Natasha says. “Be safe, okay? You won’t be doing anyone any favors if you get killed on the way here.”

“Right,” Steve says, and hangs up without a goodbye.

He takes his motorcycle, because it can weave through traffic and up sidewalks and is, generally, the fastest way to get around New York short of the Iron Man suit. He may flash his lights a few times, and run a couple of reds, but right now he couldn’t care less about the arbitrary laws of the road.

When he gets to the hospital, he runs his bike up on the curb and parks it by the bicycles.

“Sir, you can’t leave that there -” someone starts, but Steve just waves a hand behind himself and jogs through the hospital door. He makes a beeline for the check-in desk.

“My boyfriend had a heart attack, his name is Tony Stark, what’s his room?”

“Slow down, there,” the nurse says, and she looks kindly and grandmotherly and Steve kind of wants to shake her until she realizes the gravity of this situation. “I’m going to need to see some I.D.”

Steve fumbles around in his pocket for a minute before he realizes that, in his rush, he left his wallet at home, and almost smacks his head down on the countertop. “Look, I forgot it, but I promise I’m Steve Rogers, I should be listed on his emergency contact. I can confirm any of the information in there to prove it.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but only I.D. will suffice,” the nurse says regrettably.

“Oh, come on, it’s - don’t you recognize me?” Steve pleads, even though he hates playing that card. “I’m Captain America, you must have seen me somewhere, and my boyfriend in there is Iron Man, something must ring a bell -”

“Steve?”

Steve whirls around to find Natasha standing between the double-doors that push back into the Emergency Room. “I heard you yelling,” she says.

“Nat, thank god,” Steve says, rushing over to her and abandoning the unimpressed nurse behind him. “Where is he? Is he okay?”

“Sir, I still need your I.D. -”

“He’s fine,” Natasha interrupts, sending the nurse a sharp-toothed smile. “He’s with me.” She wraps her arm around Steve’s shoulder and tugs him into the hospital ward before the nurse can protest further, starting off at a brisk pace down the hall.

“They put him on blood thinners right away,” Natasha informs him. “He’s resting now. They’re going to do some more tests in a little bit and see if they need to go in with a balloon to loosen up the vein or if they need to give him a stent, or if it can just be resolved by medication.”

“If they don’t know, they should give him a stent,” Steve says. “Right?”

Natasha sighs. “They know what they’re doing, Steve. Heart surgery is invasive, and dangerous, they’re not going to do it unless they really have to. Left here. Okay, Tony’s room is this one here -”

She holds the door open for Steve to enter, which is good because Steve isn’t waiting a moment longer.

“Hey,” Tony says when he sees Steve in the doorway. His lips curl up into a weak smile. “That was fast -”

“Tony,” Steve breathes, crossing the room in three long strides to wrap Tony up in his arms. It occurs to him afterwards that maybe he shouldn’t, Tony being sore or weak, but Tony hugs him back tightly, tucking his face against Steve’s collarbone. “Are you okay? How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Tony says, voice muffled by Steve’s shirt. “Chillax, Captain Worrywart.”

“Tony, you had a heart attack.”

“A minor heart attack,” Tony corrects, leaning back from Steve so he can look him in the eye. “A baby heart attack. I didn’t even have any chest pain.”

“That doesn’t mean anything!” Steve exclaims, before remembering he’s in a hospital ward and lowering his voice. “What did they tell you about your heart? Did they get an estimate of the size of the blockage? Are they thinking surgery, or -”

“Steve, seriously, take a breath. I’m fine. Bruce is already on it, and I’m pretty sure he’s bribing Helen to give a second opinion - or, fifth opinion, really, because all the best doctors in New York have already put their opinions in. Turns out being a superhero has its perks.”

“Tony, this is serious.”

“Yeah,” Tony agrees easily, taking Steve by surprise. “But stressing out about it right now isn’t going to help either of us, not until we have some more information. So just - just chill for a second, okay?”

Steve sighs, but drops into the chair beside Tony’s bed. He takes Tony’s hand in his. “You scared the shit out of me,” he admits.

“I think you mean Natasha scared the shit out of you,” Tony corrects.

Steve rolls his eyes. “I don’t care about the technicalities right now, it’s just -” He sighs, raising his free hand to cup Tony’s jaw. “You’re okay?”

“I’m okay,” Tony promises, tilting his head towards Steve and pouting deliberately until Steve gets the cue and leans in to kiss him. Tony tastes like coffee, like he so often does, and Steve makes a mental note finally to try to wean Tony off caffeine - it’s not good for the heart, after all. “You’ll see. They’ll do a work up, give me some meds, and everything will be back to normal.”

-

He’s not entirely wrong.

The doctors do give him a work-up, which does ultimately end up in the prescription of a new medication and strict instructions to take it easy. It’s Tony, though, so of course he doesn’t; he throws himself back into life with just a strong a vigour as ever, changing nothing about his habits except for the little pill he must now take every morning with his coffee.

And Steve - well. He knows it’s Tony’s body, and Tony’s choice, but now more than ever he can’t help but wish Tony would be more careful. Not just in the field, though he’s always felt that way, but in regards to how he treats his body. Tony eats junk, sometimes doesn’t sleep for days on end, and exercises only occasionally, when he feels so inclined. All are habits Tony could easily change, if he made the decision to, but apparently even the threat of a severe, life-threatening heart attack isn’t enough to scare Tony into compliance. Or maybe that itself is the rub: maybe Tony is so scared of it, he can’t stand to think of it at all, not even to try to avoid it.

Sometimes, dating someone as complicated as Tony makes Steve’s head hurt.

Steve raises the issue with him for the first time only a week after Tony is released from the hospital, after Tony stumbles into the kitchen at six in the morning, messy-haired and high on coffee, just as Steve’s coming back from his run.

“You know, lack of sleep can be a pretty big stressor for heart attacks,” Steve says, casually as he’s able, as he pulls his cold water bottle out of the fridge.

“Mmhm,” Tony agrees absently, pouring himself another cup of coffee. “I’m sure.”

“Maybe you could try sleeping more,” Steve offers. “I bet it’d be good for you.”

Tony turns towards Steve now, full mug in hand, and offers him a smile. “I’m fine, honey,” he says. He’s said it so much in the past week that the words have lost all meaning, and consequently any reassurance they may have once offered.

“It’s just -”

Tony lays his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Really, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

He ducks in and presses a quick kiss to Steve’s cheek, and then he’s gone, brushing past him and out the door, surely back to his lab, where he’ll keep working himself towards a heart attack.

Steve tries to talk to Tony about his health several times over the next few weeks, but every time, Tony brushes it off like it’s nothing. It gets to the point where Steve, fed up and terrified, corners Tony in the workshop to chew him out. It ends as all those interactions generally due, namely in a screaming match loud enough that it makes Dummy duck his head in his charging port and Steve sleeping in the guest room.

He lays awake that night, replaying the conversation over in his mind. Why can’t you just take care of yourself? he had demanded, hands in the air. It’s like you don’t want to be here. It’s like you don’t even care.

Guilt tripping me, huh, Rogers? Tony had asked, voice twisted. Well, guess what? I don’t owe you anything. It’s my fucking body, and it’s my fucking life, and if you don’t like it that’s your fucking problem.

In hindsight, Steve should have said something, then - something like I love you, or I need you, something like I can’t do this if you leave me here alone, but he hadn’t been able to make a sound around the lump in his throat. Instead, he’d shook his head, turned on his heel, and left before Tony could see the tears in his eyes.

The next morning, things are cold between them. Neither of them mentions the fight, or tries to raise the subject again, but nevertheless Tony swallows down his little pill at breakfast. It’s enough, Steve tells himself, because it has to be; he doesn’t want to change Tony, not really. And if this is one of those things about Tony that he can’t change - well. Steve’s the one who’ll be hurt by it. He can deal with it.

It takes a few days, but eventually they move past the fight like it never happened. They always do. Steve returns to bed, and they sleep side by side, two parallel lines, quiet. The next night, when Tony crawls into bed, he curls himself around Steve, his head against Steve’s shoulder, knee pressing against the back of Steve’s thigh. It’s enough. It’s enough. They settle into a new normal.

Then, three months after the first attack, it happens again.

-

They’re in the kitchen when it happens. Steve’s making eggs, and Tony’s rooting around in the fridge for the last dregs of the orange juice.

“We should go to the Met today,” Tony is saying. “I never get Mondays off work, and they’ll be way less busy than usual -”

He’s interrupted by a sudden thump. Steve frowns, turning his head, but Tony’s still covered by the fridge door. At his feet is the container of orange juice, now glugging liquid all over the tile from a split in its side. “Tony? Is something wrong?”

Slowly, the door swings shut, revealing Tony, frowning down at his hand. “My left arm is numb,” he says, looking up to meet Steve’s eyes. “Is that normal?”

Then he collapses on the ground.

“Tony,” Steve gapes, for all of two seconds before his brain kicks into gear and he’s abandoning the stove to rush to Tony’s side. “Tony, are you with me, stay with me -”

He presses his fingers to Tony’s neck, searching for the reassuring beat of Tony’s pulse, but there’s nothing. Sudden cardiac death, Steve thinks, and his own heart seems to stop in his chest.

“Jarvis, call 911,” Steve chokes out, and then assumes the position he’d learned so long ago, back in World War II. Knees braced around Tony’s hips, hands to his chest, with a carefully moderated pressure to keep Tony’s ribs from splintering and impaling his lungs.

One pump, two pumps, and his lips against Tony’s, breathing air into his lungs. One pump, two pumps. The most twisted of kisses. One pump. Two pumps.

Oh god, Steve is thinking the whole time, unable to focus on anything other than the steady rhythm of his hands and the way Tony looks on the floor, limp and wrong. Don’t die, don’t die. Please don’t die.

The paramedics arrive less than five minutes later, but Steve doesn’t notice until they physically grab him by the shoulders and start to tug. “We need to get him in the ambulance now,” one says firmly, and automatically, Steve moves out of the way, the soldier in him primed to obey orders.

A woman takes over Steve’s position, hammering hard on Tony’s chest. They pull Tony onto a pallet, then onto a stretcher, and then they’re sliding into the elevator, leaving Steve, stunned, behind.

“We’ll take him to Mount Sinai,” the paramedic says, and then they’re gone, and Steve is left in the kitchen alone.

“Agent Romanoff is on her way,” Jarvis says smoothly. Steve doesn’t know why Jarvis is telling him this until he looks down at his own body and realizes he’s shaking, like a flimsy flag flapping in the wind. He stumbles over to the counter and grips it tight, trying to will his knees to steady. He needs to get going. He needs to get to the hospital.

“Steve?”

Steve doesn’t look up. A moment later, there is a hand on his back, small and warm and definitely not Tony’s. Steve’s chest aches. “Steve, take a breath.”

“We need to get going,” Steve manages. “We need to - Mount Sinai, they said, he -”

“Take a breath,” Natasha says again, more forcefully this time. “When you’re ready, I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

Steve closes his eyes. He can see it, like it’s still here, Tony prone on the floor like a man dying, a man already dead, an empty shell. He takes a deep breath, squeezing his eyes tight enough until stars block out his vision.

“Let’s go,” he says, finally, pushing back from the table. Natasha doesn’t argue, just turns heel and leads the way towards the garage.

It takes twenty minutes to get to the hospital in traffic, twenty minutes Steve spends practically tearing his hair out, imagining what will await him. A body with a sheet over it, a nurse with a frown. A doctor with that kind look in their eyes, saying I’m sorry, sir, we did everything we could. A morgue.

But when he gets there, there is none of those things. There is just a harried E.R. nurse, who upon the presentation of his I.D. says, “He’s in surgery right now. I’ll put in his chart that you’re here and doctors will be out to update you when they can.”

When they can turns out not to be for many hours. In the meantime, the rest of the Avengers trickle in, and, as a group, are moved to a private room away from the prying eyes of fellow patients and camera phones. Natasha stays by Steve’s side all afternoon, Steve’s hand in hers, but it does little to ease Steve’s worry. The doctors come in only twice; once, to say that Tony has stabilized, and that the lead surgeon will be putting a pacemaker in to keep Tony’s heart beating; and a second time, at almost two in the morning, to say that the surgery is done.

“He is stable,” the surgeon says, scrub cap in hand. He looks exhausted, weary-eyed and drooping, but he’s smiling, too. “We will keep him sedated at least until the morning, at which point we will allow him to naturally wake up and see where to go from there.”

“But is he going to be okay?” Bruce presses.

“He is going to be okay,” the surgeon confirms, and a sigh of relief floods the room. Steve sags back into his chair, and Natasha turns to him, wrapping him up in her small arms. Behind her shoulder, Steve sees Clint and Thor rushing the doctor to give him enthusiastic hugs. Steve thinks he shoulder get up and thank the doctor too, maybe shake his hand, but relief is so strong in his limbs that he doesn’t think he can make himself move.

It’s past visiting hours by that time, so all the Avengers are sent home aside from Steve, the only one listed as Tony’s official kin on his forms. He alone is shown the way to Tony’s little hospital room on the eighth floor -little, with it’s huge windows and spacious couch, privacy curtains and individual nurse and Tony, so small in the middle of it all.

“Let us know if you’d like us to bring a cot in here,” the nurse whispers, before she leaves Steve to it. He doesn’t even bother considering the suggestion. Instead, he pulls up a chair close to the side of Tony’s bed, so he can rest his head on Tony’s thigh, grip Tony’s hand in his own.

“I’m here,” Steve murmurs into the quiet. “I’m not going anywhere.”

In the background, the heart rate monitor creates a reassuring monotony, proof that Tony is still alive. For a long while, Steve just watches Tony cast in the light of the city, the way it almost makes him look like he’s at home, sleeping, fallen asleep in the middle of some projections in the workshop, and ready to wake and laugh and fight at any moment.

Steve drifts off just as the sun is starting to rise outside the window, casting the room in glittering gold, not unlike light shining off Tony’s armor.

-

Tony wakes up that evening, around eight.

Once again, the Avengers have gone for the day; they had showed back up as soon as visiting hours had begun, keeping vigil while Steve slept, but were once again banished at the end of the day. Steve, for his part, has barely moved, only leaving the room once or twice to find a restroom. Each time he’s returned, it’s been with a knot in his chest, a worry that something has happened in the last five minutes and what he finds won’t match what he left.

But everything is fine, so when the doctors wean Tony off his sedatives, he wakes quickly. He is confused the first time, of course, only managing a blink and bleary Steve? before he drifts off again, but it’s enough. The next time he wakes, several hours later, the nurse comes in the room and administers a few tests. What’s your name, what year is it, what does the electronic box in the corner do? Eventually, she’d deemed his brain undamaged, and left Steve and Tony alone with strict instructions to be careful of the stitches.

“So,” Tony rasps, after a long moment of silence passes and Steve doesn’t say anything. “How mad are you?”

“So mad,” Steve says, but it’s undermined by the thick wobble to his voice. “So, so mad. I may be sleeping in the guest room for a few nights.”

Tony nods easily, like he was expecting this. “I don’t suppose it would make you feel any better for me to point out that this wasn’t, technically, a heart attack.”

“No, it does not.”

Tony nods again. “Right. Well. What if I promised to start eating healthier? Would that make you feel better?”

“That depends,” Steve says, cautiously. “Do you mean it?”

“Yeah, I do,” Tony says. He offers Steve a quick smile, squeezing his hand. “You were right, honey. I overreacted before. This is - the way I act isn’t just affecting me anymore.”

“Tony -” Steve starts, but Tony ploughs on without letting him speak.

“I don’t want to hurt you like this, Steve,” he says. “And maybe this couldn’t have been avoided by eating better and exercising more - it probably couldn’t’ve, actually - but other things can. And I shouldn’t - I can accept that risk for myself, but not for you. It’s not worth it.”

“So you’ll change?” Steve asks cautiously.

“So I’ll change,” Tony agrees. “Not radically, mind you, I’m still me, but I suppose going to sleep before midnight every day might not be the worst idea, and I could do with a few treadmill workouts once in a while. Maybe even some spinach.”

Steve swallows hard. “Thank you,” he rasps. “It really - thank you.”

Tony smiles at him again, so soft. “Don’t thank me, sweetheart,” he says. “It’s the least I could do. Now tell me, what day of the week is it?”

Steve blinks at the sudden change in subject, then has to stop and think. “Uh, Thursday, I think,” he says.

“Oooh. That means the Good Place is about to come on. Care to get the TV up and running?”

“You should rest, Tony,” Steve protests automatically.

“And I will,” Tony promises. “After we watch the Good Place. Come on, Rogers. Compromise.”

Steve sighs but can’t help his smile. “Just the one episode,” he warns. “Then bed.”

Tony ends up drifting off halfway through, just as Eleanor and Chidi are sneaking off to bang in a closet. Quietly, Steve turns the TV off and tucks the blankets up around Tony’s chest. The heart rate monitor has been muted, but when Steve lays his head against Tony’s hip, he can still hear it: the steady beat of Tony’s heart. The sound tugs him down into sleep.


	86. Titty Titty Bang Bang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As it turns out, Steve loves tits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally for fandom stocking
> 
> fluff, established relationship, temporary gender-swap

As it turns out, Steve loves tits.

Tony can’t blame him - Tony, for his part, loves tits too. It’s embarrassing how distracted Tony gets by them, the first couple of days after Loki womanizes him - they’re soft and jiggly and he likes squeezing them, like a particularly effective stress ball. Steve, for his part, likes using them as pillows. It’s his new favorite position during movie night: ever since Tony was turned, instead of him sitting in the V of Steve’s legs, it’s been the other way around, with Steve slumping enough on the soft couch to rest his head on Tony’s boobs.

Which isn’t to say he doesn’t appreciate them sexually, too, because he definitely does. Tony feels like three-quarters of Steve’s attention is spent on his chest these days, nipping and sucking and fondling away. Though of course he appreciates Tony’s new downstairs furnishings, too - there’s something to be said about no refractory period, and their lube expenses have dropped almost 90%.

At first, Tony is relieved at Steve’s open mindedness. They don’t know how long this spell will last, after all, other than a tentative estimate by Thor that it shouldn’t be more than a couple months, and it would be quite a downer if Tony had to be celibate indefinitely. Gradually, though, that relief turns to worry as Tony starts to wonder: will Steve be disappointed when Tony turns back? He can’t stay this way forever, after all - the joy of having tits will wear off soon enough - and Steve just seems to enjoy Tony’s new body so much. He has never been so eager to go down on Tony, and Tony has never been so orgasmed-out.

At first Tony just tries to repress the thoughts, but when, one day, he finds himself staring at himself in the mirror and seriously considering staying female for Steve’s sake - well, even he can see how unhealthy that is. So that night, when he and Steve are lying in bed, blissed-out after their third round of fantastically athletic sex, Tony clears his throat.

“So I don’t know how to say this,” Tony begins, and immediately regrets starting that way when Steve stiffens beside him. “It’s, uh, not bad. I don’t think? You know.”

Steve rolls over onto his side to face Tony and, almost carefully, splays a hand across Tony’s stomach. Tony brings his own hand up to cover it, and Steve relaxes at his side, ducking down to kiss Tony’s shoulder. “You know you can tell me anything,” Steve says.

“Well, like I said, it’s not really anything big, just -“ Tony sighs. “Fuck it, I’m stalling. I’m worried you’ll be disappointed when I turn back.”

Tony carefully doesn’t look at Steve’s expression. “Turn back?” Steve asks. “You mean when Loki’s spell wears off?”

“Yeah.”

“What - why would I be disappointed?”

Tony shrugs at the ceiling. “It’s - I don’t know, you just seem to really enjoy my new body. Which, you know, was great for a while, but your eagerness for my tits is just getting me a bit concerned you’ll miss them when they turn back into flabby pecs -“

“Stop,” Steve interrupts firmly, and Tony snaps his mouth shut. “First of all, you don’t have flabby pecs, you have a lovely muscular chest. Second of all, it wouldn’t matter if you did have flabby pecs or flabby boobs or no pecs or boobs at all, because I love you, not your body. You know that, right?”

“Well, yeah,” Tony says, trying to resist the urge to squirm at the open affection in Steve’s voice. Almost a year they’ve been together, and still Tony doesn’t know how to deal with the easy way Steve expresses his love. “I didn’t think you’d, like, break up with me or something. Really. I just, you know. Don’t want you to be disappointed.”

“Oh, honey,” Steve says, voice warm, and before Tony knows it Steve’s fingers are on his face, tipping his chin so their eyes meet, and then their lips. Steve kisses him for a long, warm moment before finally pulling back. “Sweetheart, you are my favorite person, no matter what you look like. The only reason I’ve been a little more - eager, lately, is because I know this body is temporary and you seem to be enjoying yourself a lot more like this.”

“Well, multiple orgasms,” Tony says.

“Exactly,” Steve agrees. “It’s got nothing to do with me finding this body more or less attractive than yours. If anything, I think I have a preference for your original body, not because it’s hotter or something but because it’s more you.”

“Sap,” Tony accuses, but Steve just grins.

“Guilty as charged,” he says. “Are you good now? Do you need some more reassuring?”

Tony blushes and flops back on his pillow. “No, I think you’ve stroked my ego enough for one night.”

“Really, I don’t mind,” Steve says and, goddamn him, he sounds genuine. “I’m really glad you came to me with this, Tony. I know it can be hard to share your feelings and it really means a lot that you’re willing to be vulnerable with me.”

“Yeah, well,” Tony says. “I love you, so. There’s not anyone better to share with. Dork.”

Steve rolls his eyes and presses a kiss to Tony’s cheek. “Always gotta ruin the moment,” he teases, but he prods Tony over regardless so he can tuck himself up against Tony’s back.

“Sleep,” Steve murmurs against the nape of Tony’s neck. “And don’t take this personally, but -“ He grabs onto Tony’s boob and squeezes. “Squishy.”

Tony laughs so hard he falls out of the bed.


	87. Dry Socks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Where are my fucking socks?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship
> 
> originally posted for fandom stocking

“Where are my fucking socks?”

Steve sighs, flipping the page of his newspaper. “Have you checked your underwear drawer?”

“Yes, I checked my underwear drawer!” There’s the sound of banging from the bedroom, then a crash like Tony’s just tossed the hamper across the room.

“Have you checked the laundry basket?” Steve asks anyway.

“Yes, I checked the damn laundry basket!”

“What about the laundry room?”

Silence.

“Did you check the laundry room, Tony?”

“Um,” Tony’s voice comes floating out of the bedroom.

“Check the laundry room,” Steve says firmly.

“Right,” Tony says slowly. Another pause.

“Tony?” Steve calls, after a moment. “Have you checked the laundry room?”

“Um,” Tony says. “I may not, um. Recall, strictly speaking, where it is?”

Steve’s grip tightens on the newspaper as he resists the urge to facepalm. “You forgot where the laundry room is.”

“Yeah, well, it’s just - I usually get the laundry sent out when it’s my turn to do it, so I don’t really go there, often -“

“It’s by the third bathroom, Tony,” Steve interrupts before Tony can fumble through any more excuses. “The door that looks like a closet.”

He hears the click of a door handle, the sound of the dryer door opening, and a moment later, Tony emerges into the kitchen, a sheepish look on his face and a pair of fluffy green socks in his hands.

“Found them, did you?”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Right where you said. Have I mentioned I love you, lately? Because I do, so much. Like, so -“

“Okay, okay,” Steve says with an eyeroll, but accepts the soft kiss Tony offers. When he pulls back, Tony just moves to the rest of his face, settling sloppy kisses on his cheeks, forehead, chin.

“You’re the best,” Tony murmurs against Steve’s skin, and this - this is why Tony never faces the consequences for anything, because it is so hard to stay mad at him. Despite himself, Steve reaches out to tug Tony in by the waist, hands splayed wide across Tony’s back.

“You’re a menace,” he murmurs.

“Your menace,” Tony agrees, and kisses him again. Steve pulls him closer.


	88. Blue Hair, Don't Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Keep it together,” Tony hisses out of the corner of his mouth. “We’re in public.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, humor, established relationship
> 
> originally posted for fandom stocking

“Keep it together,” Tony hisses out of the corner of his mouth. “We’re in public.”

Beside him, he can feel Steve shaking, a fine tremor from holding his laughter in.

“I’m serious,” Tony continues in a whisper. “If you fuck this up for me, you’re going on the couch for a week.”

Really, Tony’s being unfair, and he knows it. Steve’s doing a much better job than Tony had expected, or anyone could realistically expect: after all, he didn’t grow up in the spotlight. He’s not even used to regular press conferences, yet, so this -

“Mr. Stark, are you - is this some sort of practical joke?”

Tony spots the questioner in the crowd, a curly-headed woman with an open-mouthed gape. Everyone around her looks stunned, too, Tony notes with satisfaction - the whole room could be catching flies right now.

“I have no idea why you would ask that question,” Tony says firmly, “And frankly, I’m a little insulted. What is so hilarious about this?”

He gestures behind him and towards the rest of the team - at his own glowing golden cape, at Steve’s newly-dyed red white and blue hair, at the spider legs sticking out of Natasha’s costume.

“Well, I - it’s just -“ the reporter stammers.

Tony interrupts. “As I’ve already stated, we thought it was high time we improved our frankly outdated uniforms, and we thought this could be a great way to improve our image with children. As your own newsroom pointed out just last week, Ms. Brown, we were sometimes intimidating the poor kids. And we can’t have that, can we?”

“Hulk like kids,” Hulk booms from the other side of the stage, pounding a fist on his newly-covered chest. He’s wearing a onesie designed specially by Tony - made of elastic, unbreakable fabric, and covered with a pattern of teddy bears sketched out by Steve. “Hulk no want scare kids.”

“Exactly,” Tony chimes in. “Air high five, buddy. All right, any more questions?”

The reporters in the room seem to be at a loss for words. After a moment, and a few more camera flashes, Tony nods his head decisively. “Great,” he says. “We’ll be on our way, then. Chiao!”

Steve manages to make it backstage before he starts giggling. “Stop it,” Tony hisses. “They could still hear you.”

But once Steve’s broken, there’s no putting him back together, and his giggles quickly dissolve into full-blown guffaws, bent over at the waist and slapping his knee like the grandpa that he is. “You - have - a cape,” he wheezes between laughs.

He’s so pure and happy that Tony can’t help but grin, too. “Yeah,” he agrees. “I have a cape.”

Steve breaks out into laughter anew. Tony settles a hand on Steve’s shoulder to steady him, but Steve’s shaking so hard Tony swears he starts vibrating, too. “My - hair is - blue,” Steve gasps.

“Your hair is blue,” Tony grins, and kisses him.


	89. Break Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is drinking again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANGST w/ ambiguous ending, infidelity, post-break up
> 
> originally posted for fandom stocking

Tony’s halfway through his sixth glass alone in his workshop when he hears the door slide open.

“How long have you been drinking again?”

Tony laughs, rough and humorless, gaze locked at the bottom of his glass. “Since when do you care, Rogers?”

Silence. Then the sound of someone moving, the rustle of fabric and the squeak of shoes against the tile, and then someone is plucking the glass out of Tony’s hand. Still, Tony doesn’t look up; he looks at his hand, the lines of it, the scars twisting over and through and below his skin. So many scars. He’s got such an old body, an even older heart.

“I’ve always cared, Tony.”

Tony snorts. “Right,” he says. “Right, that’s why you lied to me, cheated on me, broke my fucking heart. Right?”

Behind him, Steve sighs. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“But you did,” Tony says, and snatches his glass back from Steve’s now-lax grip. He drains it in a single go and rises to his feet, tossing the glass aside as he does. It bounces on the couch cushions, once, twice, before falling to the floor with a sharp ring.

“What’s your problem now, huh?” Tony asks, turning to face Steve. He looks like shit, Tony sees - covered in blood and mud and scratches, and right now, Tony doesn’t give a shit. “Is it that you can’t hurt me again? Sorry, Rogers, but I’m numbed and self-medicated, you can’t touch me anymore -“

“No, Tony, that’s not -“

“What do you want?” Tony demands. “Why are you even fucking here?”

Steve’s brow is pinched, eyes wide like a puppy dog’s, but that won’t work on Tony anymore. He’s seen the real Steve, now, and even the most pure of facades won’t make him forget what it’s hiding.

“I just wanted to check on you,” Steve says quietly. “You looked rough, earlier, and I wanted to see -“

“Try again,” Tony interrupts.

“I’m serious, Tony.”

“And I don’t believe you,” Tony snaps. Steve sighs again, and the sound feels like it’s grinding inside Tony’s skull, pressing out against his ribcage. There is anger inside him, whole and growing, and Tony’s running out of ways to calm it down.

“You got hit pretty hard today,” Steve says finally. “Did you go to medical?”

Tony almost laughs. “What do you think?”

Steve closes his eyes, like he can’t bear the sight of Tony anymore. Yeah, well, Tony thinks. Get in line. “Did you at least get Jarvis to check it out?”

“What are you so worried will happen?” Tony asks, pushing away from where he’s leaning against the counter. He sways for a moment, unsteady on his feet, but he’s able to regain his balance and heads towards the cupboards. “I mean, I don’t get your game here, Rogers. You’re being inconsistent.”

“I made a mistake,” Steve says quietly. “It was just a mistake, I didn’t mean it -“

“Didn’t mean what?” Tony asks, grabbing another bottle of scotch from the cupboard. It’s a cheaper bottle, lower-shelf label, and he doesn’t know why he has it, but right now he doesn’t care. He rips the cork out with his teeth, takes a swig, and turns to face Steve. “Which part didn’t you mean, Steve? The sex with someone else behind my back? The money - my money - that you spent on her, keeping her in house and home? Telling me you loved me, and there was no one else?”

Steve is quiet.

“Or was it none of that?” Tony asks. “Is she not the one you regret?”

“Tony -“ Steve starts, then stops. He sighs again. “Tony -“

“Fuck you, Rogers,” Tony spits, slamming down his bottle on the counter with a bang. “Fuck you so fucking much -“

He crashes into Steve, chest to chest, and it takes his drunk body a moment to find Steve’s lips. Steve’s lips. He smells sweaty, and his skin is grimy and slick, but his kiss, oh, that’s just the same. Hot and angry and just on the right edge of wrong. Steve’s big hands come up to cup Tony’s lower back, and Tony clutches his fingers in Steve’s shoulder, kissing so hard he thinks he can taste blood. “Fuck you,” he growls between kisses, “Fuck you, fuck -“

They fuck against the worktable, Tony bent over with his cheek pressed against counter. Tony doesn’t remember much after that, only waking up the next morning, half-dressed under a flimsy little afghan on the workshop futon. His location takes a moment to register, but when he does, he can’t do anything but groan and heave himself to his feet, one hand pressed to his throbbing temple. He tells himself he’s not disappointed. After all, you can only be disappointed if you have expectations, and Tony had learned not to expect things from Steve a long time ago.

“Fuck it,” he says. He goes to find a drink.


	90. Fixer Upper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know,” Tony says suddenly, in the middle of the worst argument he and Steve had had in months.
> 
> “Know what?” Steve asks.
> 
> “Know where you were last night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> misunderstandings, hurt/comfort, established relationship
> 
> originally posted for fandom stocking

“I know,” Tony says suddenly, in the middle of the worst argument he and Steve had had in months.

Steve visibly flounders, taken aback by the change in topic. And why wouldn’t he be? Five seconds ago Steve was screaming about how Tony isn’t taking this seriously, doesn’t take his life seriously, takes so many unnecessary risks that he’s all but guaranteed to fuck up one day, and break Steve’s heart. And now -

“Know what?” Steve asks.

“Know where you were last night.”

Part of Tony is hoping for a denial, or confusion, something, but Steve just goes rigidly still. “How -“

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” Tony shakes his head, turning so Steve can’t see the tears stinging at his eyes. “That’s the third time this month you’ve gone to “get groceries” and came back with nothing. God, you really are a terrible liar.”

“Tony,” Steve starts, “Look, I know it’s not ideal, but -“

“Not ideal?” Tony spits, whirling around to face Steve. “Not ideal? That’s what you’re going to call fucking some - some whore while your husband sits at home -“

“No!” Steve interrupts, a dawning horror spreading over his face. “Tony, what - no, I am not cheating on you!”

“Oh, yeah? Sure, you’ve just been lying to me about where you’re going, saying you’re with friends when I know you’re not, accepting phone calls at all hours from the same goddamn unknown caller? But, yeah, you’re right, you’re definitely not cheating.”

“Tony, I swear, it’s nothing like that.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony huffs. “Then enlighten me - what the hell is it?”

“There’s a house,” Steve says hoarsely. “In Brooklyn. Not too far from where Ma and I lived. I was going to surprise you.”

Tony’s already opening his mouth to slice holes in that alibi when the words sink in. He’s knocked off kilter. “You - what?”

Steve takes a careful step forward, his eyes wide and blue and almost frustratingly sincere. “I saw it a couple months ago on my way back from the community center and I just - knew. Technically, Pepper bought it, because I didn’t want you to see it on the bank statements. It’s a bit rough, so I’ve been going there a couple of times a week to fix it up. I was going to show it to you on our anniversary.”

“You - bought a house,” Tony says slowly. “For me.”

“For us,” Steve corrects, taking another step forward. He holds out a hand, and after a second, Tony takes it. “Not to live in all the time, just - weekends, maybe. A place for us.”

“You bought us a house,” Tony repeats. The thought doesn’t compute in his brain. He’s spend the last - weeks, months, however long, sure that Steve was cheating, that Steve was gearing up to leave him, that in this, like all else, he had failed.

And it turns out that’s - not true. If anything, it’s the opposite. Steve has been fixing up a house for them. He’s been planning this major present for their anniversary. He’s not close to leaving.

“Tony?” Steve prompts, when after a moment, Tony still doesn’t reply. “Can I touch you, sweetheart?”

Tony doesn’t think he’s capable of finding words, so he just nods, letting Steve envelope him in a big, warm hug. God, Steve hugs are the best. Soft and comforting and home.

“A house,” Tony manages, after a moment. “You really got us a house?”

“A brownstone,” Steve tell him. “It’s got some steep stairs but a little cardio never hurt anyone. And the stained glass - you’ll love it. I’m almost done updating the kitchen, and then it’ll be perfect.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony says. “I should have known you wouldn’t - you’d never -“

“Hey,” Steve says gently, pulling back so he can look Tony in the eye. “I won’t lie and say I’m not a little hurt. But in hindsight, it was a pretty reasonable conclusion to come to, wasn’t it? They don’t call you a genius for nothing.”

Tony shakes his head. “Still,” he says, “still, you’re you, you’d never -“

“Betray someone I love as much as you?” Steve suggests. Tony looks down at his feet. “Hey. Sweetheart, really. I never want to hurt you, and though I can fail sometimes at that, I promise that I will never cheat on you.”

Tony nods, looking back up to meet Steve’s eye. “Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Steve agrees.

“So when do I get to see the house?” Tony asks, after a beat of silence. “Now that the surprise is ruined.”

“We could go right now,” Steve says. “If you’re interested.”

Tony squeezes Steve’s hand. “Of course I’m interested,” he says. “Let’s go. I need to make corrections.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but follows as Tony tugs him along to the elevator. And, well - if Steve holds Tony’s hand a little tighter than usual, nobody but them needs to know.


	91. Two Plus One is Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That’s Tony, all right. That’s Tony, arguing with the ceiling with his hands on his hips, that’s Tony, with an undeniable swell to his belly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MPREG, established relationship
> 
> originally posted for fandom stocking

Steve hates long missions.

It hadn’t always used to be this way. When he first woke up from the ice, he welcomed them: something to keep his mind occupied, something familiar in a sea of the foreign. Now, though, Steve’s found his home. He’s got a family, a gorgeous omega and so many friends to come home to, and lengthier trips get harder and harder to justify.

This one, though, was important enough for Steve to make an exception. There were reports of an underground HYDRA base growing in Yemen, a base potentially wielding world-threatening bioweapons, so Steve had agreed without a second thought. It took three months of radio silence before they could finally shut every bit of the cell down, and every day, Steve ached for home a little more. He missed Tony like it was a physical loss; he lay awake every night, thinking of Tony’s hands, his smile, the warmth of his eyes.

Finally, though, he’s home. The preliminary debrief at SHIELD only takes an hour, but it’s an hour too long for Steve. By the time he gets back to the Tower, he’s so eager to see Tony he’s almost buzzing with it, so he bypasses their bedroom and heads straight to the lab. He punches in his passcode with shaking fingers, all but bounds into the workshop, and - freezes.

Because yes, that’s Tony, all right. That’s Tony, arguing with the ceiling with his hands on his hips, that’s Tony, with an undeniable swell to his belly.

“Tony,” Steve whispers, almost hushed, but it still gets Tony’s attention.

“Steve,” Tony says, turning. “I - hi.”

Steve would respond, but he can’t do anything but gape.

“So I figured out why I was sick before you left. Turns out it wasn’t a stomach bug.” One hand drops to Tony’s stomach, almost absently. “I - are you okay? Can you say something? I know this wasn’t planned, but I - I really want this, Steve, I -“

“Tony,” Steve says again, and then he’s stumbling forward to cup Tony’s face in his hands and kiss him until he’s breathless.

When he finally pulls back, Tony is panting, his hands clutching Steve’s wrist. “So not a problem then?” he asks, and Steve laughs wetly, resting his forehead against Tony’s.

“So far from a problem,” he says, reaching down to lay his palm on Tony’s belly. His skin is warm, and as Steve rubs circles with his fingers, he feels a light movement. He pauses, and there it is again - something sharp and jabbing, a kick against his palm.

“Did you feel that?” Tony asks, and Steve laughs in response. He knows he must look ridiculous right now, the way he’s beaming. “Yeah, he’s a kicker.”

“He?” Steve asks, gaze darting back up to Tony’s. “It’s a boy?”

Tony shakes his head. “Not sure yet,” he says. “Wanted to wait until you got back to find out. But I think it’s a boy.”

Steve looks back down at his hand on Tony’s stomach, their baby - their baby - growing beneath it. God, Tony’s pregnant. They’re going to have a baby.

“I love you,” Steve says, and realizes he’s crying. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Tony says, “But come on, no crying, seriously.”

His chastising is totally undermined by the fact his voice is sounding a little wet, too. Steve ignores it, choosing instead to pull Tony into his arms, spreading his hands across Tony’s back as though to encircle him entirely. His back is wider, though, his hips clearly spreading, and there’s more fat between Steve’s fingers than there used to be. Tony’s belly is pressed up against Steve’s stomach, and Steve can’t imagine ever loving Tony more than he does in that moment.

“I’m so sorry I missed so much of it, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs into Tony’s hair, rubbing circles on the small of Tony’s back. “But I’m here for the rest of it. No more missions, I’ll tell Fury now. I’m at your beck and call until this baby comes, and probably for a good while afterwards.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tony asks. “You’re gonna be my own personal slave?”

“Yes,” Steve says without hesitating. “That’s my job. To take care of you. And our baby.”

“Our baby,” Tony murmurs. “Yeah. Our baby.”

Steve holds him close.


	92. Papers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony’s quite proud when Steve asks Tony if they can talk and Tony’s mind doesn’t immediately leap to divorce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship, adoption, superfamily
> 
> originally posted for fandom stocking

Tony’s quite proud when Steve asks Tony if they can talk and Tony’s mind doesn’t immediately leap to divorce.

It’s on the list, sure, but it’s something like number five now, instead of number one. Tony’s therapist would be proud.

“Sure, honey,” Tony says aloud, finishing drying off the last plate from dinner and setting it aside. “What’s up?”

“Actually, can we sit down?”

The worry of divorce prods itself a little bit higher on the list, but still, Tony pushes it away. “Of course.” He twists the kitchen rag around his fingers real quick before following Steve to the kitchen table. Steve is nervous, Tony realizes: Tony can see his heartbeat in his throat, jittering and fast. Oh, god, Tony realizes suddenly. Is Steve about to tell Tony he doesn’t want kids?

They’d talked about it, almost a year ago now, but only in the last couple of months did they actually begin the adoption process in earnest. They just got the papers from the agency to fill out a few days ago; Tony was looking forward to it.

“It’s about adopting,” Steve says, and Tony feels his heart sink as his worst fears are confirmed. Well, second worse. At least it’s not divorce. Tony wants kids, he does, but if it’s a choice between Steve and some future hypothetical child - well, it’s not really a choice at all.

“Okay,” Tony says slowly. Breathe, he reminds himself. “It’s okay. If you’re, you know. Having second thoughts.”

Steve’s eyes go wide as he glances up at Tony. “What? No! Wait - are you having second thoughts?”

“Wha- no, of course not,” Tony says, frowning. “I said I wanted kids and I meant it. I just - okay, maybe we should start over. What is it about adopting that you want to talk about?”

“The - the kid,” Steve says. “Or, the kids. However it works out. It’s just, okay. I’d be happy adopting literally any child that needs help, you know that. But, uh.” He sighs. “Fuck, why is this so hard to get out?”

“It’s okay,” Tony offers. “There’s no rush.”

“Bucky was eight when his ma died,” Steve blurts. “I was thirteen. Everyone that age that got orphaned knew we might as well get used to life on our own. Everyone wants a baby; nobody wants someone else’s kid.”

Oh, Tony thinks. Oh. This - this is something he can deal with. Tony reaches out carefully, resting his hand over Steve’s. “I don’t need a baby.”

Steve looks up at Tony through his eyelashes, expression painfully hopeful. “No?”

“No,” Tony confirms, scooting his chair closer so his thigh is pressed against Steve’s. “Actually, I think it’s a great idea. Not that I don’t love babies, but - I can see it, can’t you? Us, with a kid. Honestly, honey, I don’t care if we’re the parents of a newborn or a teenager - I just want to get to see you be someone’s dad.”

Tony feels the way Steve relaxes beside him, the tension leaving him a rush. “I am so glad to hear you say that,” Steve says sincerely. “This means - it means so much to me, Tony.”

“Of course,” Tony says. “Come on, Steve. Did you honestly think I would say no?”

“No,” Steve says, shaking his head, “no, of course not. You’ve got a bigger heart than anyone I’ve ever met. I just - was really hoping you’d be on board.”

“Enthusiastically,” Tony promises, finally leaning over to press a kiss to Steve’s cheek. Steve turns at the same time, though, and he ends up catching his lips.

“We should fill out those papers, soon,” Steve says when he pulls back. “I think there’s a section, where you can specify the ages.”

“Yeah,” Tony agrees, leaning in for another kiss. “Yeah, definitely, we can just -“

Any other words are lost between them in the rough paper sliding of skin on skin, the ragged breathing of mouth against mouth.

-

Seven months later, they’re standing on the front steps of a foster home, waiting to meet the boy who will hopefully become their son.

“Breathe,” Tony reminds Steve, just before pressing the doorbell. “Just breathe.”

Steve tries to follow Tony’s instructions, but it’s hard. This is a kid, potentially his and Tony’s kid. This is the most important moment of Steve’s life. He can’t mess this up.

The social worker answers the door, having arrived ahead of time. “He’s waiting in the living room,” is all she says, before stepping back and letting Steve and Tony into the house.

Steve’s heart is beating like a freight train in this chest. Please, please don’t let me mess this up.

He turns the corner and - stops. There, in the middle of the living room, stands a brown-haired boy, around ten years old. He looks so much like Tony, Steve thinks ridiculously, and then can’t get the thought out of his head. He’s got messy hair and a tentative smile, jiggling with nervous energy. His eyes are bright blue.

“Hi,” the boy says, glancing up at them from beneath his eyelashes. “I’m Peter.”

“Nice to meet you, Peter,” Tony says, bending down in front of him. “I’m Tony. This is Steve.”

“Hi,” Steve says, unable the help the nervous shaking of his hands. He sticks one in his pocket, rests the other on Tony’s shoulder. Times like these are when he’s most grateful for Tony’s charm, his easy grace.

“Nice to meet you, Tony and Steve,” Peter says. “Or, uh, Mr. Stark and Captain Rogers.”

“I think you can stick to Tony and Steve,” Tony offers with a grin, and Peter blushes.

“Sorry, it’s just - kind of weird, meeting two famous superheroes who might adopt you.”

That startles a laugh out of Steve, and Peter’s gaze jerks up to meet his. “I didn’t think about that,” Steve says, “But that makes a lot of sense.”

Peter’s smile strengthens. “It was kind of weird when they told me,” he says. “I guess they were worried I would think it wasn’t safe. But I figure if you’ve decided to adopt a kid, you know the risks.”

Steve’s grip tightens on Tony’s shoulder. “We do,” Tony says seriously. “And if you decide you want to come live with us, we won’t let anything happen to you. We swear.”

Peter glances between Steve and Tony’s expressions. “I believe you,” he says. “And I think I would. Like that, I mean.”

Steve’s heart sings.


	93. Romantic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Between Tony and Steve, Tony is definitely much more of a classic romantic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship

Between Tony and Steve, Tony is definitely much more of a classic romantic.

He likes sending Steve flowers and buying him foreign candies to try; he texts Steve through the day, messages filled with little heart emojis and smiles, just to tell Steve something funny about his day; often he’ll surprise Steve after a hard mission with a candlelit bath, hot water filled with epsom salts and Tony, smiling, a glass of soda water in one hand. “Hey, handsome,” he’ll say, and Steve’s tension and anxiety will be pressed out of focus, replaced with the overwhelming love he has for this hopeless, gorgeous man in front of him.

For their first date, Tony took Steve to a little Thai place in Hell’s Kitchen. The restaurant was busy, and Steve was momentarily overwhelmed, until the maitre’d escorted them to a private rooftop table with a sparkling view of the Manhattan skyline, where Steve and Tony could play footsie and talk about classified information, away from the prying eyes of others. It was perfect.

In contrast, Steve is - not so romantic. It just doesn’t come naturally to him. Everything he does just turns out cheesy and awkward, or, occasionally, dangerous - hello muggers in Central Park - so, after a while, he stops.

But he has his own way of showing his love. Sandwiches, that’s a big one: almond butter and orange marmalade spread on thick multigrain bread, delivered to Tony’s workshop along with a few baby carrots and a chaste kiss on Tony’s cheek. He washes and folds Tony’s underwear, because it gives him a weird feeling knowing someone else is touching Tony’s boxers or - worse - his laces, and he likes using the soft detergent, the stuff he knows makes the fabric feel good against Tony’s skin. Sometimes, he even asks Jarvis to tell him when Tony is getting ready to hop in the shower, so he can start it early, letting it steam up the room so it’s already warm when Tony strips down.

It’s not the same, and there was a time Steve would have been insecure about that. He voiced his concerns to Tony once, and Tony had just sighed and slipped into Steve’s lap, knotting his fingers in Steve’s hair. _What could be better than you?_ he’d murmured, so painfully sincere. _You do everything for me, honey. There’s nothing else I want._

Even now, Steve can’t help but wonder at how amazing it is that he can say the same.


	94. Bad Dream (Bad Life)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I had a bad dream last night,” Tony says suddenly.
> 
> His therapist quirks an eyebrow at him from across smooth expanse of the glass coffee table. “Oh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANGST, established relationship, major character death, unhappy ending

“I had a bad dream last night,” Tony says suddenly.

His therapist quirks an eyebrow at him from across smooth expanse of the glass coffee table. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Tony confirms. He twists his fingers, picks at his cuticles with his thumbnail. “It, uh, it was about Steve.”

Again, the therapist shows no signs that this is abnormal, although Tony can count on one hand the number of times he’s brought Steve up in these sessions, despite the fact he’s been coming for almost four months, now.

Four months into his new life. Tony pushes the thought away.

“What happened in the dream?” the therapist asks finally, when Tony doesn’t continue.

“He, uh - well, we were in bed. We, uh.” Tony swallows hard, blinking against the heat spreading behind his eyes. “We were in bed, and he was just laying next to me, and smiling. And - he did this thing, where he drew on my chest, and you know I never could figure out what he was drawing?” Only once had Tony ever been able to decipher the sketch; it had been the words I love you, drawn out in careful cursive. Tony remembers how he’d felt in that moment, so cherished, loved completely, and has to take a deep breath to keep the tears at bay.

He shakes his head and continues. “Anyway. We were just laying there, and I think I said I loved him, and he said he couldn’t do this anymore. And he said he was leaving me. And he was still smiling, you know, like everything was good, but then he said he hated me and he shoved me, shoved me off the bed and I hit the ground and I - I woke up.”

The therapist nods, making a quick note in her book before setting it and the pen down on the table. “Do you wish Steve had left you?”

The blunt nature of the question takes Tony by surprise, and he finds himself flinching backwards. “How can you say that?” he asks, though he won’t look her in the eye. “He - I love him, of course I don’t wish that’d he’d, he’d - no. No.”

The therapist’s expression is so soft, so sympathetic, that it lessens the sting of her words when she says, “I don’t believe you.”

Tony looks down at his shoes.

“I think,” she continues, “That you blame yourself for his death. You think if Steve had broken up with you, he might still be here, isn’t that right? You’re a genius, you know what the butterfly effect is. If Steve had broken up with you, or you with him, he might not have been at the Tower that day. He certainly wouldn’t have been heading out with you to get breakfast, wouldn’t have ended up outside the Tower at the exact time that drunk driver rode up over the sidewalk. Wouldn’t have died.”

“Stop,” Tony chokes out, finally. His cheeks are wet and his throat is tight. “Stop, don’t -“

“And that is wrong,” the therapist says forcefully, before Tony can get another word in. “You and your genius brain are wrong. Tony. Tony, look at me.” She waits until he meets her eyes. “You’re a genius, aren’t you?”

“So?” Tony chokes out a humorless laugh. “What the hell does that matter when I couldn’t save - when I couldn’t protect the one person that mattered most to me, the one person I should have been able to protect. What the fuck is it worth?”

“It’s worth you,” his therapist says immediately. “It’s worth you knowing that the butterfly effect works the other way around, too. How many times did you save Captain Rogers’ life? How many things did you do to keep him out of harms way, that you weren’t even aware you were doing?”

“I don’t care,” Tony spits. He’s shaking now, he realizes, tears falling thick and fast. “Don’t you get that? I don’t give a shit about what bullshit good things I might have done before, I didn’t save him! I told him I would save him, I told him, I told him -“

“You did your best,” the therapist says firmly.

“My best wasn’t good enough,” Tony croaks. “It’s never enough.”

“No,” his therapist counters, “Your best is always enough. That’s what your best means. Your best is the most you could do, the most you could reasonably expect. You did more than anyone else could do. You held him, didn’t you?”

Tony closes it eyes. He can see the moment so clearly, always lurking in the shadows of his consciousness, always on his mind. Steve, sprawled on the sidewalk, head cracked open on the pavement. Blood, so much blood. Tony didn’t even notice the little kid crying on the sidewalk nearby, banged up from being shoved out of the way, or his sobbing mother stroking her hands through his hair. All he saw was Steve.

Steve, he had choked, stumbling forward, falling to his knees. Steve, Steve, no, Steve, please -

He’d rocked his body until the paramedics had come, but it was too late. It was too late from the moment the driver finished his seventh pint and decided he was still good to drive, from the moment Tony, selfish and lazy, had demanded croissants instead of bagels, from the moment Steve had decided others’ lives were worth more than his own. He died on impact, spine snapping in two against the sidewalk. It was always going to happen this way.

“I miss him,” Tony hears himself say, and realizes he’s sobbing. His chest is a box of ribbons haphazardly glued together, fluttering and shaking, ready to break loose at any moment. “I should have - if I had been better, I wouldn’t have to miss him. I want him back.”

“I know,” his therapist says, painfully sympathetic. “I know.”

“I want him back,” Tony says again, but now he sounds like a small child whose lost his parents, searching for a way home. Tony wants to go home. He wants Steve.

The therapist lays a gentle hand on his knee. Tony heaves his breaths in and out in the silence.


	95. Freckle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve notices a strange spot on Tony's back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> established relationship, fluff, domesticity

“Hey,” Steve says suddenly, when Tony’s trying to sneakily steal one of Steve’s big hoodies. Tony immediately pulls out his best puppy dog expression, but Steve doesn’t seem concerned with the shirt in his hands, just manhandles him around by the waist until his back is towards Steve.

“Somebody feeling a little enthusiastic?” Tony asks with a raised brow, glancing back at Steve over his shoulder. Steve’s focus doesn’t seem to be on Tony’s ass, though, but instead on his bare upper back; he’s got his gaze fixed at some seemingly random point above his right shoulder blade. “Steve?”

“You’ve got a mole,” Steve says with a frown. “I’ve never seen it before.”

“It’s probably just a freckle,” Tony says. He moves to tug away but Steve’s grip is strong and holds him in place. “Steve?”

“It’s December.“ Tony can hear the frown in Steve’s voice. "You shouldn’t be getting freckles. And this wasn’t here two weeks ago.”

“What, because you’ve memorized all the marks on my body?” Tony jokes.

“Yes,” Steve says seriously. “It’s irregularly shaped, too. You need to go to a dermatologist.”

“Steve, it’s fine, I’m sure you’re just overreacting -“

Steve whirls Tony around so they’re facing and, with one hand, cups Tony’s cheek. “You need to go to a dermatologist,” he says again. “It won’t take ten minutes and it’ll put my mind at ease. Please?”

And how can Tony say no to that? He sighs, slumping a bit in Steve’s arms. “Fine,” he agrees. “But in return, I would like to wear your sweatshirts for at least the next two weeks without any bitching from you.”

“Who says I bitch?” Steve asks innocently.

Tony raises a brow. “Last time I tried you basically derobed me in front of the entire team.”

“Yeah, well.” Steve shrugs, taking a step back towards the college door. “That wasn’t because I didn’t like it.” Grinning, he’s out the door before Tony can come up with a reply. Tony squawks in indignation. That little shit.

He takes off after him.


	96. Seoithín

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I need you to sing."
> 
> “What?”
> 
> “Your baby won’t stop kicking me and I can’t sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MPREG, fluff, established relationship
> 
> originally posted for fandom stocking

Steve’s woken up by a smack to the chest.

“Wha’,” he mumbles, fumbling his way to wakefulness. “Wha’sit.”

“I need you to sing,” Tony demands, fully awake, and Steve almost groans. He manages to bite it back, though, and instead props himself on one elbow, rubbing at his eye with one fist.

“What?”

“Your baby won’t stop kicking me and I can’t sleep.”

“What time is it?” Steve asks, glancing over at the digital clock on the nightstand. 3:24 in the morning. “Oh, sweetheart.”

“I know,” Tony whines, rubbing at his belly with one hand. “And I’m sorry I woke you up, but I’m so tired and I just want to go to sleep-“

“No, I’m glad you woke me up,” Steve assures him, slipping his hand over Tony’s. They’ve found Steve’s singing is the only thing, aside from walking, that can ease the baby to sleep, and Tony is obviously not going to go for a walk right now. “Hey.” He presses a kiss to Tony’s neck, his cheek. “I got this. Any song requests?”

Tony huffs, but his lips curl in a bit of a smile. “Baby Got Back.”

Steve laughs, too, pressing another kiss to the corner of Tony’s mouth. “Not sure rapping is in my skillset,” he says dryly. “Can I interest you in an old Gaelic lullaby?”

“Well,” Tony says, settling a bit more of his weight onto Steve’s side. Steve takes it easily. “I suppose that would do.”

“Good,” Steve says. He raises a hand to cup Tony’s jaw, stroking slow lines across his cheekbones, and Tony sighs and slumps a little further. “Just try to relax, okay?”

“Mm,” Tony hums, and Steve presses one last kiss to his face before slipping down in the bed so he’s level with Tony’s belly.

“Hey, baby,” he tells Tony’s stomach. “You’re a troublemaker already, aren’t you? Just like your parents.” Tony huffs above him. “But your Daddy needs sleep, and I bet you do, too. So how about we go to sleep together, okay?”

There’s a soft kick under Steve’s hand, almost an affirmation. “Okay,” Steve says. “No more kicking, now. Seoithín, seo hó, mo stór é, mo leanbh -“

Steve has to sing the song a few times over before the gentle kicking finally stills beneath his palm. He finishes, finally, and waits with bated breath, but there’s nothing. He grins, and glances up at Tony to share in his accomplishment only to find Tony nodded off against the headboard, neck craned at an unnatural angle as he snores.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Steve says, feeling his heart grow twice as large in his chest. He hadn’t known his body could contain this much love; he expects it’s a sensation he’ll have to get used to. Gently, doing his best not to disturb Tony or the baby, he tugs Tony down to a more comfortable position on the mattress and curls around him. He splays one hand over Tony’s burgeoning belly, tucking his nose into Tony’s hair. Three months to go.

He can’t wait.


	97. Belly Rub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Steve,” Tony groans, leaning back in his chair, “Steve I think I might be dead, your cooking killed me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship
> 
> originally posted for fandom stocking

“Steve,” Tony groans, leaning back in his chair, “Steve I think I might be dead, your cooking killed me.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You’re not dead, Tony.”

“No, I am, I think I’m dead, this is what I remember it feeling like.”

And it’s a joke, so it shouldn’t sting, but it still has Steve reaching out to settle his fingers around Tony’s wrist. The bones of his arm are delicate, like a bird’s; his pulse is slow but strong.

“You’re not dead,” Steve reminds him, just in case, and from the way Tony’s grin softens to a smile as he takes in Steve’s expression, he gets it.

“Okay, not dead,” Tony agrees, “just on my way there, like, 90% dead, any minute now my stomach is gonna burst and that’s gonna be it, wam bam goodnight to the Merchant of Death -“

“The Merchant of Death died years ago,” Steve says. He tugs where he’s still holding Tony’s wrist. “Come on, let’s go lay down on the couch.”

Tony just groans again, head falling back against his chair. “But I can’t move,” he whines, and Steve has to bite back a sigh.

“Look, I’m not going to carry you, so you can either sit there on that uncomfortable chair for a few more hours, or you can come to the living room with me and we can lay on the couch and watch cartoons.”

Tony pauses. Steve can see him thinking. “Fine,” he huffs finally, and pushes himself to his feet with a moan not unlike a dying animal. “This better be worth it,” he says, even as he’s face planting on the couch.

“Mm,” he says, then mutters something that sounds like, it’s soft, but that’s muffled by the cushions.

“Budge over,” Steve says as he kicks off his shoes. Tony just wriggles his toes and groans. “Come on, Tony, don’t be a dick.”

Tony pushes himself up for that, looking over his shoulder. “I’m always a dick,” he says, and Steve snorts and Tony flips on his side so Steve can slide in between him and the back of the couch, wrapping his arm around Tony’s waist.

“Hi,” Steve says, pressing a kiss to the back of Tony’s neck.

“Sap,” Tony snorts, but leans his head back so he’s closer to Steve. Steve smiles and starts rubbing Tony’s belly where his hand has settled. Tony groans and slumps a little farther into the cushions.

“I love you,” he manages eventually, “oh my god, Steve, never stop,” and Steve can’t help grinning even as he leans down to bite Tony’s shoulder, gentle.

“You don’t enjoy sex this much,” he says, and Tony flicks a wrist as his eyes slide closed.

“Sex doesn’t feel this good,” he says. “This is like a thousand orgasms in one.”

Steve rolls his eyes even though he knows Tony can’t see it and presses a kiss to the crown of Tony’s head. “Sleep,” he orders.

Tony does.


	98. A Godly Penis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony sees Thor's giant dong. Steve may be a little bit jealous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, jealousy, established relationship, NSFW
> 
> originally posted for fandom stocking

It’s the third week of the month, which means this Wednesday is team movie night, SI just hit the black for the month, and the cameras in Thor’s suite are broken. Again.

“What the hell does he do to these things, Jarvis?” Tony complains, as the elevator carries him up to Thor’s floor. “Is he whacking them with Mjolnir or something?”

“I really couldn’t say, sir,” Jarvis says. “However, I do believe it may have something to do with an electrical issue. Mr. Odinson is very conductive.”

Tony snorts. “Got that right,” he mutters. Just then, the elevator bobs to a stop on Thor’s floor. “Hey, Thor,” Tony calls, stepping forward without taking his eyes off the tablet in his hands. He needs to fix the camera by the TV, and the one in the kitchen, and the one in Thor’s bathroom - well, okay, maybe Tony can leave that one.

“Stark!” Thor booms, rising from the couch in one swift movement. He’s playing Mario Kart, Tony realizes when he glances up from his tablet for a second. He’s playing Mario Kart and -

Tony blinks. Thor is buck-ass nude.

“Um,” Tony says. Thor’s dong is staring at him, a thick, long snake with a single beady eye. Jesus Christ, how the hell did tiny Jane Foster ever stretch to take all that dick? It’s practically the size of her leg.

“Stark?” Thor prompts after a moment, when Tony does nothing but continue gaping at his dick. “Is something wrong?”

“What?” Tony shakes his head, forces his eyes up to meet Thor’s. “Uh - yeah, your cameras are shorting out again, I was just going to fix them but, you know, I think it can wait.”

“Nonsense!” Thor says. “I’m not doing anything important, you are welcome to play with whatever you wish.”

Tony feels his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “You know,” he says, voice coming out distinctly squeaky, “That’s really okay, Thor, but I appreciate the offer. I’m just gonna go now, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow for movie night.”

He flops an arm behind him in a half-wave as he all but bolts for the elevator. Jarvis, god bless him, shuts the doors as soon as Tony steps inside, allowing him to slump back against the handrail in disbelief.

“Oh my god,” he says finally. “Thor has a giant dong.”

“It would appear so,” Jarvis agrees.

“Oh my god,” Tony says again. “Oh my - Steve, where’s Steve, I have to tell him about this.”

“Captain Rogers is in your shared bedroom folding laundry,” Jarvis says, as the lift starts moving. “I believe he will welcome your presence.”

“Oh my god,” Tony says again, staring at himself in the shiny wall of the elevator. Life-changing moments - they sneak up on you sometimes. The day Tony’s Humvee was bombed in Afghanistan. The first afternoon a screaming fight with Steve dissolved into heavy petting. This moment, right now, the day that Tony Stark first understood the sheer magnitude of a god’s penis.

Sure enough, when Tony reaches the bedroom, Steve is sitting cross-legged on the bed, folding pairs of boxers. “Hey,” he says when he sees Tony, expression dissolving into a crooked smile. “What are you doing here?”

“What, am I not allowed to be in my own bedroom?” Tony shakes his head, waves a hand. “No, not the point. Focus, self. I just saw Thor’s dick.”

Steve blinks at him. “What?”

“I, Tony Stark, just saw the penis of a god. And, oh my god, Steve. It was such a godly penis.”

Steve looks like he has no idea what he’s supposed to do with this information. “Um - what?”

“Like, it was so big,” Tony continues, “Like, my forearm big, which is fucking ridiculous, how does he get so many girls to fuck him with a dick like that? He must be so good at eating pussy, I should ask him for tips -“

He’s cut off suddenly by Steve’s hand pressed over his mouth. “Stop,” Steve says, from where he’s suddenly kneeling on the edge of the bed, laundry abandoned. “Wait. Are you telling me that you saw Thor’s penis?”

“Mmhm,” Tony mumbles around Steve’s hand.

“Tony!” Steve exclaims, pulling his hand back. “Why the hell did you see Thor’s penis?”

“I didn’t mean to! I just went to fix his cameras, okay, he’s always shorting them out with his stupid God of Lightning schtick, and because the cameras were broken Jarvis couldn’t give me the all clear, and it turns out Norse gods like playing Mario Kart in the full nude, who knew?”

“You saw Thor’s penis,” Steve says.

“I saw Thor’s penis,” Tony confirms. “Oh my god. Steve. Steve. I just saw Thor’s penis. This is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me, I feel like I should commemorate the moment -“ Tony’s eyes land on Steve, and he cuts himself off. “You’re upset.”

“What? No,” Steve denies, but Tony sees the way he consciously straightens his back and tries to smooth out the angry furrow between his eyebrows. “Why would I be mad?”

“I don’t know,” Tony says. “Are you mad I saw his dick? No, that doesn’t make sense, you’re not irrational -“ He hits him, suddenly, with the sort of glee one usually associates with a kid on Christmas morning. “Oh my god. Steve. Are you jealous?”

“No,” Steve whines, in a way that makes it sound an awful lot like yes.

“Oh my god,” Tony says again. Today truly is a day of revelations. “You’re jealous of Thor’s giant dick. Oh, honey.”

Steve opens his mouth to deny it, and then huffs. “Fine,” he admits, “Fine, I’m a - little jealous that you saw the penis of the Norse god of fertility and now you’re calling it the most exciting moment of your life, so sue me -“

“Oh, honey,” Tony says again, moving forward to loop his hands around Steve’s neck. Steve doesn’t reciprocate but he doesn’t pull away either. “Sweetheart, look at me. I don’t want a giant penis. Do you know how hard it is to get fucked on a giant penis?”

Steve glances up at Tony through his eyelashes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tony assures him. “I mean, sure, I like a bit of girth like any other guy, but your dick is the perfect size, just like the rest of you. Thor probably can’t even fuck mortals, he can only eat them out, and what fun would that be?”

“No fun,” Steve mumbles.

“No fun,” Tony agrees, pulling Steve a little closer. “Your dick, on the other hand, is a lot of fun. I wouldn’t change it for the world. Or any part of you, for that matter.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, almost shyly. “Sorry I was being - stupid -“

Tony shakes his head and plasters a hand over Steve’s mouth. “Shut up,” he says. “You’re being ridiculous. Why would you spent time apologize when you could be fucking me?”

Steve licks a stripe up Tony’s palm, which is still covering his mouth. Tony grins. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he says. He’s laughing as they tumble back onto the laundry-strewn bed.


	99. Prank War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a Thursday afternoon, and Tony’s in the lab working on his newest prank on Clint (arrows, paint, grenade) when Steve tells Tony that he loves him.
> 
> Tony fumbles for words. “Fuck you,” he manages eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get together, misunderstandings, hurt/comfort, insecure!Tony)

It’s a Thursday afternoon, and Tony’s in the lab working on his newest prank on Clint (arrows, paint, grenade) when Steve tells Tony that he loves him.

For a moment, Tony thinks he’s misheard. Surely Steve wouldn’t -but he turns around, and finds Steve staring at him, eyes wide and puppy-round, and wow, he really would stoop that low.

Tony fumbles for words. “Fuck you,” he manages eventually. Steve flinches, like he wasn’t expecting to be called out on his bluff. “Of all the people to do this, I didn’t think it’d be you.”

“What?” And never let it be said again that Captain America has no poker face, because with that furrow between his eyebrows, the tilt of his frown, Tony could almost think he’s sincere.

“Who put you up to this? Was it Clint? Natasha? Oh, god, don’t say it was Thor -“

“Nobody put me up to this, Tony,” Steve interrupts. Tony has gotten used to these ramble-ending intrusions, and normally it wouldn’t bother him, but right now he kind of wants to smack Steve on his perfect, perfect pectorals.

But instead, Tony just shakes his head. “I don’t know how you could think this would work, but I’m not stupid. What, did you think you’d say you loved me and I’d melt all over you and confess my undying affections or something? Is someone hiding in the ceiling with a camera recording this so that when you tell me you’re lying you can record the look on my face -“

“No!” Steve almost shouts, to be heard over Tony’s increasingly loud tirade. “No, Tony, what the fuck? None of us would do that to you!”

“I don’t believe you!” Tony yells back. The lab is suddenly silent, aside from Tony’s harsh breathing. “I don’t believe you,” he says again, turning away so he doesn’t have to watch Steve’s stupidly good acting and start to convince himself this might be real.

“Tony,” Steve sighs, and Tony has to squeeze his eyes shut and take a deep breath. Steve sounds so soft, so caring, so _real_ \- and it’s ridiculous for Tony to think he can hear that in a single word, but he can. It’s why he trusts Steve, so wholly, why this hurts so much more than he would have anticipated.

“Tell Clint the prank war is over,” Tony says, without turning around. “This has gone too fuck far. Actually, scratch that, Jarvis, you tell him. Tell him he’s not getting any new upgrades from me for at least six months.”

“The prank - Tony, this has _nothing_ to do with the prank war. I told you when you started that stupid thing, I don’t want to participate.”

Tony huffs. “Well, clearly one of them corrupted you.”

“Why clearly?”

Tony bites his lip and doesn’t say anything.

“Tony?” Steve prompts, after a moment. His voice sounds closer now, but Tony can’t quite force himself to move away. “Hey, can you look at me?”

Bracing himself for a room full of Avengers repressing laughter, Tony turns around and finds - nothing. Just Steve, a few steps away, looking like he’s trying to soothe a startled horse.

“This isn’t a joke, Tony,” Steve says gently. “I’m serious. I guess - well, I guess my timing could have been better, but I never thought you would of -“ He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, this isn’t some sort of twisted practical joke. I’m serious. I love you. I swear to you. Okay?”

Tony blinks fast, fighting the sudden swell of traitorous tears. “Okay,” he says roughly.

Steve nods, a little bit of Captain America satisfaction leaking into his expression. “Good,” he says. “And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same or you aren’t comfortable with this, I don’t mean to pressure you into anything, I just thought it was time that I stop hiding this -“

Tony can’t listen anymore, or he’s pretty sure his head will explode. Instead, he darts forward, and, with a confident he really doesn’t feel, places his hands on either side of Steve’s face and kisses him.

Tony’s kissed a lot of people before: girls, guys, and everything in between. None of them have felt like this.

Steve’s mouth is wet and warm and he kisses sloppily, a little too eager, tongue a little too enthusiastic, but Tony doesn’t care. It’s _Steve,_ and he tastes like milk candy, his stubble scratches at Tony’s palms, his hands squeezing tight around Tony’s waist.

Finally, Tony breaks away, breathing hard, to meet Steve’s gaze. Steve, Tony is pleased to see, looks completely stunned, eyes so wide they’re about to swallow his face.

“I love you, too,” Tony says, voice shaking despite his best efforts. “If - if you’re serious about this. I love you, too.”

A smile spreads across Steve’s cheeks. “I’m serious about this,” he says, “I love you,” and then he’s kissing Tony again, just as eager and pure as the first time.

“Okay,” Tony laughs against Steve’s lips, kissing him again and again and again, not totally able to pull back. “Dinner. We should get dinner.”

“Mmhm,” Steve agrees, and tugs him down onto the couch.


	100. Freaky Friday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony get bodyswapped. Tony enjoys it, to say the least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, body swap, established relationship
> 
> originally written for fandom stocking

“I am a God!”

Steve glances up from the morning paper to see a sweaty Tony panting by the entrance to the stairs, like he’s just run up all 92 flights to the penthouse.

“Pretty sure you’re not,” he says, pulling off his reading glasses and setting them aside. “A super soldier, maybe.”

Tony grins at him, bouncing into the kitchen like a happy puppy. “Well, I feel like a God,” he tells Steve, pulling open the door to the fridge. “I just broke the world record marathon pace.”

“Word record doesn’t mean anything. If you’re running in my body, then you have to beat my record pace. 1:53.”

Tony sticks his tongue out at Steve, an expression that looks strange on Steve’s own face. “Killjoy,” he accuses, then chugs half a bottle of orange juice.

Steve shrugs, leaning back in his chair. His lower back aches out a protest; Steve hadn’t realized how much sleeping in his soft bed bothers Tony’s back until this morning, when he’d woken up in Tony’s sore body. He resolves, for the third time today, to buy a firmer mattress.

“I wonder if your cooking ability transferred along with your body,” Tony wonders, staring into the fridge again. “I gotta be able to make bacon at least, right?”

Steve rolls his eyes and heaves himself up from his chair, nudging Tony away from the fridge. “You’re going to create bad habits for yourself if you keep eating junk.”

“Oh, come on,” Tony complains, “I haven’t had bacon in, like, three years. It won’t do anything to your ridiculously enhanced body, and we don’t know how long this will last. Please?”

Steve glances over at Tony, who’s pouting. “Damn, I do have really strong puppy eyes,” Steve admits, and pulls out the package of bacon. Tony whoops.

“I love you, househusband,” Tony says, pulling himself up with ease to perch on the kitchen counter. “Maybe after breakfast I should show you just how much.”

Steve glances over at Tony, who wiggles his eyebrows. Steve snorts. “You wouldn’t find it weird to fuck your own body?”

Tony makes a face. “What? Of course not. Fucking myself is at the top of my list of things to do, besides, like, fucking you and me, or fucking several of you.”

“Wouldn’t it be weird, though?” Steve wonders, turning back to where the pan has heated up. He pulls out a fatty piece of meat and drops it in the pan, hearing it sizzle. “Like fucking your identical twin.”

“Except it’s not my identical twin, it’s my boyfriend, who just happens to have swapped bodies with me for a day.”

“And that’s so normal.” Tony is quiet and Steve knows if he turned, he’d get more of the same sad puppy dog expression. Damn his own stupid sad face. “You know, this relationship is in trouble if you keep always getting your way with things.”

Tony snorts, and Steve hears the light thud of him jumping down onto the tile. A moment later, strong, warm arms wrap around Steve’s chest, settling over his heart, where the scars from the arc reactor remain. It’s nice, Steve thinks, to be the one held for a change; he’ll have to ask Tony to do this more often. Minus the magical body swap, of course.

“The only person more stubborn than me is you,” Tony murmurs, breath warm in Steve’s ear. “Pretty sure we’ll be fine.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees after a moment. “We’ll be fine.” They stay there together for another few, long moments, before Steve clears his throat and interrupts the silence. “Go sit down, your bacon is ready.”

Tony all but sprints to the table. Steve grins.


	101. Halves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most people meet their true-born mates in their teens, early enough that their personalities and life experiences grow and shape them together. Tony, on the other hand, doesn’t meet his mate until he’s twenty-five years old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soulmates au, get together, first meeting
> 
> originally written for fandom stocking

Most people meet their true-born mates in their teens, early enough that their personalities and life experiences grow and shape them together. Tony, on the other hand, doesn’t meet his mate until he’s twenty-five years old, still young by many accounts but inexorably molded by a myriad of life-bending experiences.

Luckily, the same is true for Tony’s mate. “Hi,” he says, the first time they meet, holding out a hand to shake. “I’m Steve.” His hair is shiny and ruffled, his muscles bulging out of his t-shirt, but what Tony notices first is his eyes. They’re a deep, piercing blue, one that makes something ache in Tony’s chest.

Tony gets caught up enough that he almost forget to hold out his own hand, so it’s with pink cheeks and a bit of a self-deprecating laugh that he reaches out to touch his soulmate for the first time. The second their palms meet, he knows. There’s no reason why, it is just is. His skin touches Steve Rogers’, and it thrums through Tony’s bones like an electric current: mine, mine, mine.

“Hi,” Tony finally manages raspily after a moment of the two of them simply staring into each other’s eyes. “I’m, uh. I’m Tony.”

“Nice to meet you, Tony,” Steve says, and maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but is that a genuine smile curling around the corners of his lips? Dare he even hope - has he found someone with whom his reputation doesn’t unfortunately precede him? “I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, huh?”

Tony opens his mouth to agree, but instead what comes out is, “Do you know who I am?”

Steve’s brow furrows a bit, the blinding bright of his smiling dimming just slightly. Tony misses it already. “Tony?” he tries. “My soulmate?”

“Yeah,” Tony says. He’s not wrong, but - suddenly, there’s a sinking feeling in Tony’s belly to accompany the swooping pure joy. “Uh. Can we chat?”

They go to a grimy little coffeeshop down the road, tucked between a Barnes and Noble and a fish and chips shop. It’s dimly-lit but cosy, smelling faintly of vanilla under all the coffee; it reminds Tony of those rare Christmas mornings he got to spend with Jarvis and Ana, when his parents were away on business. Steve smiles warmly at the barista and greets the girl at the counter by name. “Your usual?” she asks, and he nods.

“Thanks, Darcy,” he says. “Plus whatever you want -“ He turns to Tony.

“Black coffee with two extra shots, please,” Tony says, with his best attempt at a smile, and passes her a twenty.

“You don’t have to do that -“ Steve protests, reaching as though to take the money back.

“It’s fine,” Tony says, grabbing Steve’s wrist before he can rob the girl - Darcy - of the cash. “Trust me. Keep the change.”

The service is quick but the coffees are so hot they burn even Tony’s long-ago-numbed mouth. He rolls his cup between his palms, fingering the coffee sleeve.

“Is something wrong?” Steve asks, after a moment, when Tony still doesn’t speak. “Is it - I know sometimes people don’t get a soulmate of the - gender, they were expecting, if that’s a problem -“

“Oh, no,” Tony interrupts quickly. “No, I’m bi all the way, that’s not an issue. It’s, uh. Is that an issue for you?”

Steve shakes his head just as fast. “No, definitely not.”

“Oh. Uh, good. Yeah, it’s, it’s nothing like that, it’s just, uh -“ Tony sighs, shakes his head. For what might very well be the first time in his life, he has absolutely no idea what to say. “Fuck, this is so much more complicated than I thought it would be. I always assumed my soulmate would know who I was.”

“Which is?” Steve prompts, after another moment. “Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad, not if we’re mated.”

You’d be surprised, Tony almost says, but manages to bite it back. “I’m, uh. My name is Tony Stark.”

Tony watches the recognition dawn on Steve’s face. “Oh,” he says, looking down at his mug - a reusable ceramic thing the barista had pulled out of a drawer specifically for Steve. “That’s, uh. Wow. Okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony blurts. He wants to take it back as soon as it comes out of his mouth but then he figures, fuck it, this poor guy is stuck with him for the rest of his life, he deserves the truth, so he continues, “I didn’t - if you don’t want to be with me, I understand. I’ll - get out of your life, if that’s what you want, or if you just want to be - acquaintances, or friends, maybe - not that I’m expecting that, of course, it’s just -“

“Stop,” Steve interrupts, voice firm. Tony’s jaw clicks shut. “Why wouldn’t I want to be with you?”

Tony makes a face. “Uh, because I’m me? Because I’m responsible for the deaths of innocent people, because I’m a slut, because I’m an asshole? Take your pick.”

He risks a glance up at Steve’s face. Steve is frowning, a look tinged with the sort of disapproval not unlike Howard, any time he was reminded of Tony’s existence.

“Well, I’m not an expert,” Steve says, “Certainly not as much as you are, but from what I understand, you work in clean energy now.”

“Well, yes,” Tony admits, “But -“

“And why would I care about your sexual preferences? Unless you’re inherently anti-monogamy.”

“No, I’m not, it’s just -“

“And you seem like a perfectly good person so far,” Steve finishes. “I don’t have any problem being mated to you as a person Tony. All that seems a little overwhelming is the money. I’m - not sure how to feel about having a mate who’s richer than God.”

“Oh,” Tony says dumbly. “Well, I mean - I know it’s a lot of money, but most of it is in trusts and charities controlled by finance guys, so it’s not that weird.”

“I grew up in poverty,” Steve says gently. “And I’m currently an artist trying to make a living. So, you know. The idea of never again having to worry about whether or not I can make the rent? Kind of mind blowing.”

Tony blinks. “Oh,” he says again. “I - I’m sorry, if I’m being weird about this, or making this weird, or, whatever, you know, I just - don’t really know what to do?”

Steve offers him a little self-deprecating grin. “Believe it or not, this isn’t an experience I’ve had before either. You don’t need to apologize, Tony. I’m just really, really glad to meet you.”

“Uh, yeah,” Tony hears himself say. “Yeah, me, too.”

For a long moment, Steve just smiles at him, eyes bright. He’s so gorgeous, Tony finds himself thinking, so absolutely stunning; already he can tell he’s going to waste many an hour daydreaming about this man. Worse things have happened.

“So,” Steve says after a brief pause, “How’s your day been?”

“Well,” Tony says, feeling a grin bloom on his own lips. “It’s had a couple rough patches, but it’s looking good right now.”

His future stretches in front of him, happy and unalone.


	102. Sudden Cardiac Death: Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is - different, after they get back from the hospital.
> 
>  
> 
> Sequel to Chapter 85.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> established relationship, hurt/comfort, misunderstandings

Steve is - different, after they get back from the hospital.

It’s not that he’s disinterested, per say. It’s more like he’s distant, like something had shifted when Tony’s heart stopped, and Steve now occupies a slightly different dimension then Tony, a just-wrong plane of existence.

Tony first notices it only an hour after he arrives back from the hospital, when he sends a message through Jarvis asking Steve to come down for a movie night. He gets a prompt reply, but not the one he was looking for. “Unfortunately, sir, Captain Rogers has gone out for a jog. He has said not to expect him back before dinner.”

“Now?” Tony asks skeptically, looking out the window, where snowflakes are falling grey and indistinct. It’s Sunday; Steve doesn’t run on Sundays. But then Steve probably hasn’t worked out since Tony landed himself in the hospital; his legs must be itching for a good workout. “He really is a masochist.”

Jarvis makes a sound that in a human throat would be humming. “Indeed, sir. Would you like to watch regardless?”

“I can’t believe you have to ask that, Jay.”

“How dare I,” Jarvis says dryly, and a moment later, the beginning frames of a New Hope sputter to a start on the screen.

As Jarvis had suggested, Steve shows up just in time for dinner, eyelashes frozen and ears bright red. “Hey, honey,” Tony says when he spots him, and Steve ducks down to give Tony a kiss. His lips are cold like he got defrosted five minutes ago, not five years ago, but Tony, stupid as it may seem, had missed him. He moves to deepen the kiss, but Steve pulls back, offering Tony a smile that seems just the slightest bit too tight around the edges.

“I should go change before dinner,” Steve says. “Save me some lasagna?”

“Sure,” Tony agrees. Luckily, in his enfeebled state, he doesn’t even have to fight Thor for it; Bruce defends the food for him. By the time Steve comes back, not only changed but showered, rubbing a towel through his wet hair, most of the others have vacated the table, and only Bruce and Tony remain.

Bruce rises when he spots Steve in the doorway. “Don’t eat too fast,” he says with a smirk, patting Steve on one shoulder. Then he turns to Tony. “My lab, tomorrow at 10, okay? I’m serious about those stress tests.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “You really are a mother Hulk.”

“Don’t show up and you’ll see how motherly the Hulk can get,” Bruce warns, and with that, disappears out the door.

“What was that about stress tests?” Steve asks, shoveling into his plate of food. “I thought the doctors cleared you.”

“Yeah, they did, but Bruce is overprotective. Just like the rest of you.” Tony snags one of the last pieces of garlic bread from the breadbasket, ripping off a piece of crust with his fingers and popping it into his mouth. “It’s the only concession you’re getting from me, mind you. I’m not about to become the team’s little patient.”

“Other than the healthy eating and exercising,” Steve reminds him.

“Other than the healthy eating and exercising,” Tony agrees. He had still been a little high on painkillers when he’d agreed to that, and in some sense he regrets it, but in a larger way, he thinks it was for the best. All he has to think about is the look on Steve’s face as Tony had fallen, the look on his face when Tony had finally come to in the hospital, to remind himself why he’s doing this. This is for Steve, not for him, and high or not, it’s worth it.

Besides, there might be some, small, self-interested aspect. Because while Tony knows that Steve is the peak of human perfection, good and loyal down to his core, he also knows that he’s - well, he’s getting older, and that’s not always the most attractive thing. His grey hairs he can dye, his softening body he can fight, but something like heart disease he can’t do much about. If eating healthier and exercising can help Tony seem not only fitter but younger, then surely it’ll be worth it.

Steve eats quickly enough that it doesn’t leave room for much but mundane conversation, and soon, Steve is rising to rinse his plate and gather the dishes. “Don’t worry about it,” Steve says, when Tony starts gathering the condiments to put back in the fridge. “I’ll get it.”

Tony makes a face at him. “I have a pacemaker, Steve, I’m not disabled.”

“I didn’t say that,” Steve says, “but you’re barely out of the hospital, you should rest.”

“Putting away a tub of margarine is resting,” Tony counters, and this time, Steve doesn’t argue, just turns away from Tony with that little pinch of his mouth. Tony sighs; he doesn’t like fighting with Steve, even these little conflicts, not when he knows that Steve is genuinely upset.

He finishes storing away the salt and pepper and garlic, and then slides over to where Steve is washing the few remaining dishes in the sink. “Want me to dry?” Tony offers.

“Nah, I’ll just put them on the rack,” Steve says.

So instead, Tony tucks himself up behind Steve, chin over Steve’s shoulder, hands roped around Steve’s waist. Steve loosens a little in Tony’s touch, but not enough; he’s tense like he’s on a wire. Not for the first time, Tony thinks this week really must have put a toll on him.

“Hey,” Tony murmurs against Steve’s shoulder, as Steve is rubbing the sponge around on the final plate.

Steve sets it on the rack, unstoppers the sink. The sink drains with a glug-glug-glug, leaving a thin layer of soap bubbles coating the stainless steel. Steve wipes his hands on a rag.

“Hey,” Tony says again, this time prodding Steve to turn in his arms. Steve obeys, until he’s face-to-face with Tony. He smiles, but he’s got bags under his eyes, and his forehead is wrinkled. He looks tired, so very tired.

“Let’s go to bed,” Tony suggests, and after a momentary hesitation, Steve nods. It’s only nine p.m., but right now, Tony doesn’t care; he squeezes Steve’s hand in his and guides him to their bedroom, where, side by side, they brush their teeth, floss, and change into pajamas.

In bed, they cuddle up against each other just like they always do, but Steve is tentative in all his touches. He keeps one hand tucked under his pillow, and the other, he splays so lightly on Tony’s side that it’s not even resting on him, just hovering above his skin, like he’s a stranger afraid to touch.

“I love you,” Tony murmurs into the darkness.

For a moment, he’s worried Steve won’t reply, but then the words come, vaguely flat but there. “Love you, too.”

-

It only gets worse moving forward.

Steve’s reluctance to display physical affection proves not to be a momentary issue but, seemingly, a new state of being. He accepts Tony’s kisses readily enough, and he still doles out shoulder pats, finger brushes, presses up beside Tony on the couch, but it’s all so - careful. His touches are light, absent, and never accompanied with the same easy joy and smile that Tony is so used to seeing on Steve’s face. Now, he seems locked into a permanent awkward grin, the sort of expression Steve gets at charity events when he knows he’s supposed to smile but can barely muster the energy.

It’s not just that, either - Steve is avoiding Tony. Tony’s pretty sure he is, anyway - he had Jarvis run the numbers, and there’s only a 16% probability that Steve’s schedule would naturally change so radically in such a quick time period. 16% is plenty low for Tony to call bullshit, so call bullshit he does - in the privacy of his own head, anyway. Every time Steve goes training for the second time in a day, goes running in the evenings or goes to a coffee shop to meet a ‘fellow artist friend’, Tony notices. He starts a private tally. The numbers climb higher than he’d care to think about.

And Tony doesn’t want to jump to conclusions here, he really doesn’t, but it seems pretty obvious to him what’s triggered this sort of behavior from Steve: his heart attack. Clearly, Steve’s seen how vulnerable and mortal and old Tony truly is, and he’s just - not attracted to him anymore. Not interested in him. Not in love.

It had sounded shallow, when Tony had vocalized his fears to Dummy in a moment of weakness, but really, he can’t think of any other explanation. After all, that’s all that’s changed since the heart attack, at least for the worst; Tony even agreed to Steve’s fitness regime, so surely Steve can’t be annoyed about that any longer.

Honestly, Tony doesn’t really blame him. He knew this would be an issue someday, he just didn’t realize it’d be an issue so fast. After all, Tony is almost fifty, and Steve - he’s still in his early thirties. He’s got his whole life ahead of him, an especially long life given the influence of the serum. Despite his loyalty and love, at some point he was bound to realize Tony won’t be able to stay with him forever, and he’ll want to look for someone else who can.

Expecting it or not, it still hurts like a bitch, and in many ways, Tony finds himself unconsciously reciprocating Steve’s cold behavior. Brief kisses, briefer touches, nights spent entirely separate, bodies like two parallel lines carefully segregated to their own halves of the mattress. Tony doesn’t even mean to bring it up, wanting Steve to come talk to Tony on his own terms, but finally, one night, it gets to be too much.

It’s been almost a month since Tony’s heart attack, and Steve is down in the workshop with Tony. For a moment, when Tony sees him, his heart gives a little leap - maybe Steve is down here to drag him to dinner, he thinks, or a workout. Even bed. It’s the thought that counts, after all, and surely if Steve’s still trying to keep Tony alive, it can’t be that bad.

But then Tony notices the duffel bag slung over Steve’s shoulder, and his hopes die as quickly as they’d come. “Going somewhere?” he asks.

Steve nods. “Yeah, I’m going out to visit Sam in D.C. for the weekend. Figured it was time to head back, since I haven’t been there in a while.”

Tony hums, looking back down at the machine he was working on. Suddenly, he can’t remember what it is, why it was so important he solder this part to that part. All he can think about is Steve leaving him, and what a perfect preview this is to the future.

“You know, maybe you shouldn’t come back.”

The words are out of his mouth before he knows he’s said them, and he sees Steve freeze out of the corner of his eye.

“What?” Steve asks, voice suddenly low. “You - why would you say that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Tony snaps, suddenly angry. He tosses his soldering iron down onto the workshop bench, turning to face Steve. “Maybe because you never want to touch me, anymore? Maybe because you kiss me like you’re kissing your grandma, maybe because we haven’t done anything even remotely intimate in four weeks, maybe because you’ve been avoiding me like you’re disgusted by the sight of me?”

Steve’s mouth falls open. “What? Tony, is that really what you think?”

Tony closes his eyes, shakes his head. The lump in his throat makes it hard to speak, but he swallows hard. He needs to get through this. “What I think,” he says roughly, “Is that you have finally come to the realization that you’re dating a fifty-year old. Congratulations! Bit slow on the uptake, but it finally sunk in. You’ve realized I’m fifty, and I treat my body like shit, and also work a job with one of the highest casualty rates of all time, and I’m probably not going to stick around very long, not like you. And you’ve realized that you don’t want to be young and hot and dating a wrinkly, grey-haired man with heart issues, and, frankly, I don’t quite blame you. If you want to break up with me, break up with me. But stop this pussyfooting around like you’re worried you’ll send me into cardiac arrest again. I’m a big boy. I can take it.”

“You -” Steve seems to fumble for words. Tony can’t tell if it’s because he’s genuinely taken aback at the thought, or because he’s just surprised Tony, emotionally repressed as he is, has genuinely caught him out. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Maybe the former, then.

“Tony,” Steve says, tossing his duffel bag on the floor and crossing the room to stand in front of Tony. “Can I - can I touch you?”

Tony shrugs. “You tell me,” he says, trying not to let the insecurity bleed through into his voice.

Judging by Steve’s face, he’s not entirely successful. “Tony,” Steve sighs, cupping Tony’s jaw in his hands. “I do not want to break up with you.”

“No?” Tony asks, despite himself.

“No,” Steve confirms. “I love you very much, Tony, and I don’t know what I would do without you. That’s - well, that’s kind of what this is about.”

Tony takes a deep breath, not sure what he’s feeling right now. Steve doesn’t want to break up with him, but he does have a secret - he braces himself, blowing out a gust of air. “Explain.”

Steve sighs again. “How much did they tell you, about your heart attack?”

Tony blinks. “Um. Not too much, just that I had one, and was rushed to the hospital. They talked more about treatment, honestly. I remember I was with you when it happened. That’s what this is about?”

Steve shakes his head. “Your heart stopped, Tony,” he says quietly. “Your pulse didn’t go weak or irregular or - or anything like that. Your heart stopped. You were dead on the kitchen floor, right in front of me. I had to give you CPR until the paramedics arrived. I had to do mouth to mouth.”

“Oh, honey.”

Steve steamrolls on. “It was the worst five minutes of my life, hands down. The way it felt - it. It’s hard to explain. But every time I touch you, or kiss you, I just - I think of that. What it felt like to kiss you when you were dead.”

“Jesus,” Tony hears himself say. God, how self-absorbed has he been, to miss this. “Come here.”

He wraps Steve up in his arms, and Steve goes willingly, tucking his face into Tony’s neck. He’s shivering in Tony’s arms, a low quake, but he’s not crying, not yet. “I’m so sorry,” Tony says into Steve’s hair. “I had no idea.”

“I didn’t want you to worry,” Steve says, voice muffled. “But I’m - I’m having more issues with it than I thought I would.”

“Of course you are. Jesus, I can’t imagine how hard this must -” Tony cuts himself off, shaking his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

“Kind of is,” Tony says. “I’m the one who had the heart attack.”

“Shut up,” Steve says, pulling back to meet Tony’s gaze. His eyes are wet. “I should have talked to you about it. Then you wouldn’t have gotten these ridiculous ideas in your head -”

“My low self-esteem is not your fault,” Tony points out.

“Then let’s just agree this is nobody’s fault, okay?” Steve squeezes his hands where they’re resting on Tony’s waist, and it’s the most solid touch Tony’s received since he was discharged from the hospital. “I’ll work on this, okay? I am working on this. So.”

“Well, now that I know, I can help,” Tony says, inching a little closer. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” Steve says immediately.

Tony smiles. “Close your eyes,” he orders.

He waits until Steve’s eyes are securely shut before he leans in and kisses him. Unlike their last few kisses, he makes sure not to be pliant or chaste; he kisses hard, with his lips and tongue and breath against Steve’s mouth. It’s a living person’s kiss, full of energy.

When he pulls back, Steve’s eyes are open, watching him. “Better?” Tony asks, a little breathless.

“Yeah,” Steve says, sounding surprised by his own answer. “It was.”

Tony smiles. “See? We’re always better as a team.”

“We really are,” Steve agrees, voice soft.

Tony lets the moment stretch, one minute, two, before finally dropping his hands from Steve’s neck and pulling away. “Okay,” he says. “I’m - as embarrassing as that was in hindsight, I’m glad we cleared that up. But you’ve got a flight to catch, don’t you?”

Steve actually looks a little regretful. “Yeah, I do. I could probably push it to the morning, if you wanted -”

Tony just shakes his head, reaching forward to pat Steve’s jaw. “Go see your friend,” he says. “I’ll be here when you get back, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve agrees, and this time he’s the one to lean in. He doesn’t kiss Tony, though; instead, he leans their foreheads together, then shakes his head back and forth, brushing their noses in a butterfly kiss. The wide, beaming smile that spreads over Tony’s face is entirely involuntary; he can’t hold it back, much as he wants to.

“Okay,” Steve says, pulling back. “I’ll see you Monday, right?”

“Monday,” Tony agrees.

“Keep an eye on him for me, won’t you, Jarvis?” Steve says, as he picks his abandoned bag back up.

“Always, Captain.”

A smile flickers over Steve’s lips. “I love you,” he says.

“Love you, too. Now go, or you’re going to miss your flight, and the frugal grandma in you will get upset.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“Love you.”

Then Steve’s gone, disappearing out the workshop and up the stairs the garage. Tony waits a few moments to make sure he’s really left before sighing and sagging back into his chair. His heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest; all this anxiety, adrenaline and mood swings - probably not the best for someone with a brand-new pacemaker. Oh, well. It’s worth it. Besides, Steve doesn’t have to know.

“Give Steve access to my heart data, will you, Jay?” Tony asks, as he picks his soldering iron back up. He’s got a heart rate monitor at all times, now, and Jarvis keeps a constant monitor of all the data it collects, but Tony hadn’t thought to share it with Steve. Stupid.

“Certainly, sir.”

A few minutes later, Jarvis interrupts his soldering, saying, “Sir, you’ve received a message.”

Tony flips his mask up off his head. “What is it, Jay?”

“I think it would be better to show you, sir.”

Tony waves a hand, and a moment later, his text stream with Steve appears in hologram. Their last exchange, a vaguely dispassionate exchange about dinner foods, is entirely mundane, but the new text below it is more exciting.

I love you. Thank you so much for this, it means a lot. Next time I’m home, Jarvis can fit me with one of these and you can monitor me, too. <3 <3 <3

Tony grins. “You heard the man, Jay. Start synthesizing.”


	103. The Good Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the moment the silver-fox angel man says, “You’re in the Good Place”, Tony knows something is wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good place au, meet-cute

From the moment the silver-fox angel man says, “You’re in the Good Place”, Tony knows something is wrong.

After all, there’s no way Tony belongs in the Good Place. He was all but single-handedly responsible for the brutal deaths of thousands of innocents, not to mention his all around asshole-ish tendies: selfish, arrogant, inconsiderate. He did make an effort to change, later in life, but how much making up could he really do? His ledger was drenched, dripping red, and a few new clean energy devices were never going to be enough to change that.

Still, he doesn’t speak up immediately. Call it the businessman in him: he wants to get the lay of the land before he figures out what he has to do. He listens to Silver Fox tell him about how he died - electrocuted when a new device backfired and the backup protection failed, which was, admittedly, a very him way to die - and about the rules and norms of the afterlife. He even lets Silver Fox give him a tour of the neighborhood, which includes just as many gelato shops as Tony would have expected Heaven to have.

The whole time, the unsettled feeling in his stomach gets heavier and heavier. This place is too perfect for a person like him - of course it is, it’s the Good Place, and Tony is anything but a good man. He almost says something half a dozen times, but he always bites it back at the last second, and eventually he and Silver Fox end up at the front door to a three-story Brooklyn walk-up. It’s been plopped right in the middle of a green, wet forest, so that tree leaves lick at roof tiles and windows.

“This will be your home,” Silver Fox says. “It’s been tailored to your liking - your liking, that is, and you’re soulmates.”

Tony’s brain stutters. “My what?”

“Soulmate,” Silver Fox says easily. “Did I forget to mention that? Sorry, memory tends to go after a few billion years. Yes, you have a soulmate. Everyone does. Surprise!”

Tony flounders for something to say. “They - and they’re a good person?”

“Of course!” Silver Fox says. A little furrow appears between his brows. “We’re in the Good Place, Tony, everyone here is just as good of person as you are.”

The guilt twisting in Tony’s chest doubles in size. “I’m sorry,” he hears himself say, “I can’t - I should have said this earlier, but -“

He’s interrupted by the front door of the building swinging open and almost smacking him right in the nose. He manages to step back just in time to prevent being knocked out, which is good, because he’d have hated to miss this view: someone who could only be a Greek God is standing in the doorway to Tony’s apartment, grinning so wide it reaches his sparkling eyes. He’s wearing a shirt just a bit too snug on his bodybuilder muscles, but his hair is fluffy and blonde, like a golden retriever. Tony wants to lick him.

“Hi,” the god says, without waiting for Silver Fox to speak. He holds out a hand. “I’m Steve. Are you my soulmate?”

Fuck yes I am, is Tony’s first thought. Unfortunately, that impulse is followed quickly by his conscience, which quite strictly informs him in a voice reminiscent of Pepper’s that this nice man probably has a real soulmate, Tony, so as hot as you may find him, you better fess up quick.

Tony’s a bad person, though - he’s been over that, right? - so instead of saying anything, he takes Steve’s hand and offers his own smile. “Tony,” he says. “And I believe so.”

Silver Fox claps his hands together like an excited little kid. A bit weird, for an immortal, but Tony lets it pass. He is an angel, after all. “I’m so glad you two got to meet! Your case was rather exciting - you two actually were a perfect match according to the soulmate algorithm! That’s actually relatively rare - most people end up 98 or 99 percent compatible, but 100% - well, that’s almost unheard of! So you’re a bit like local celebrities around here.”

Tony forces himself to maintain his smile. “Great,” he says.

“It really is good to meet you, Tony,” Steve says sincerely. His eyes are wide and startling blue; they’re like puppy dog eyes even when he isn’t trying. God, Tony bets nobody was ever able to say no to this guy. “I’ve - well, I guess you could say I’ve been waiting for you a long time.”

Tony tilts his head, but before he can ask, Silver Fox steps in to explain. “Captain Rogers was a military leader,” he says. “He sacrificed himself for his country at a very young age, saving countless lives in doing so but unfortunately sacrificing any type of a future.”

“You, uh.” Steve swipes a hand at the back of his neck, bashful. “You’ll kinda be my first relationship.”

Oh, god. Look at this man. So pure and innocent and deserving of so much. He died for his country. He fought in a war, he saved lives, and Tony -

Tony can’t do this.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, taking a step back from Steve. “I’m so sorry, but this is wrong.”

Steve’s expression flickers to hurt, and it makes Tony’s chest ache so he turns instead towards Silver Fox, who just looks confused. “I wish I belonged here, but I don’t. There’s been some mistake. I don’t belong in the Good Place.”

Silver Fox blinks. “That’s - I’m sorry, that’s impossible. We don’t make mistakes.”

“But I really shouldn’t be here,” Tony argues. “Have you read my file? I produced weapons for over thirty years, weapons that killed thousands of innocent people. I’m a total dick to everyone in my life, I treat my friends like shit, and I’m an alcoholic. What part of any of that sounds like a good person to you?”

“Is your name Tony Stark?” Silver Fox asks.

“Yeah, but -“

“Of Manhattan, New York,” Silver Fox presses. “Of Stark Industries, son of Howard and Maria Stark, born on May 29, 1970, the inventor of the arc reactor and repulser technology, as well as half a dozen other world-changing technologies.”

“Well, okay, sure, but -“

“But nothing,” Silver Fox interrupts smoothly. His bubbling personality from earlier is gone, replaced with something that actually feels like it belongs to a higher-power being. “You deserve to be here, Tony. Yes, you’ve made some mistakes in life, but who hasn’t?”

“They weren’t just mistakes, though,” Tony argues, even why he wonders why he’s still fighting this. “They weren’t - I did so many things wrong, things I can’t take back, and I don’t deserve to be happy, when I caused all that pain.”

Silver Fox considers him for a long moment. “You belong in the Good Place,” he says. “The data is clear. Having said that, though, we are not a prison. If you want to go to the Bad Place, I can arrange for that. But -“ He pauses now, glancing between Tony and Steve. “If you do that, your soulmate will be left alone. He will pay the price for your decision. And I don’t think you’re prepared for that.”

Tony looks over at Steve again, who’s got this horrible little look on his face, like he thinks he’s been rejected or something. Tony doesn’t know this man, doesn’t know him at all, but he can picture it, suddenly, how they could fall in love, twist their lives - or afterlives - together into one. He can also see what would happen if he chooses to go downstairs and leaves Steve here alone in this big house. What kind of lonely paradise is that?

“Just stay a few days,” Silver Fox says. “Get to know each other. Get to know why you and Steve were meant to be together. Get to know why he doesn’t deserve to be left alone. And, if after all that, you still want to leave, well -“ He shrugs. “I’ll call a train.”

Steve has laugh lines, Tony notices suddenly. He’s so young, but he has laugh lines; how much must he have laughed to carve those wrinkles?

“Okay,” Tony hears himself say. Steve’s eyes shoot up to meet his, and Tony feels it like an electric current to the chest. Aftershock. “Okay, Steve. Let’s get to know each other.”


	104. The Captain's Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They kidnap him three months to the day after he breaks up with Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mob boss au, established relationship, breaking up and making up, hurt/comfort, kidnapping

They kidnap him three months to the day after he breaks up with Steve.

It’s inconvenient at best, genuinely upsetting at worst. After all, he was already having a really shitty day - rethinking his life choices, his decision to dump Steve, his decision to date him in the first place - so to throw a kidnapping on top of it was rude. Unnecessarily rude. If you’re going to kidnap someone, at the very least you could do it politely.

But they’re assholes, so of course they pick the worst day possible to snatch him off the street, cover his head in a burlap sack, and stow him away in the back of a van. It’s all very stereotypical, nothing Tony hasn’t experienced before as first the heir and now the owner of one of the largest tech companies in the world. What is unusual, though, is the thick Russian flowing between his captors, and the foreign-exotic cigarette smell embedded in their van’s seats. Maybe a rival company outsourced the kidnapping?

It’s not until the burlap sack is ripped off Tony’s face and he’s thrown to the ground that he realizes what’s happening. “Smile for the Captain,” one of the kidnappers says, grimacing around his golden teeth, and snaps a quick Polaroid of Tony wriggling on the grimy ground. Immediately, he stills and starts to glower, but the damage is done. The Polaroid spits out its little photo, and Goon Stalin shakes it in the air. “Bet your boyfriend will like to see this,” he snarls. “You little fag.”

Tony only just manages to hold back an eye roll: of course the Russian criminals are homophobic. But restraining himself seems to be a good call, because after a moment, the Russian goon huffs, satisfied, and leaves, taking all but one of his men with him. The last guy stands at the door the rest exited from, gun hoisted in front of him, eyes locked on Tony’s.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he says, accent so thick it’s almost unintelligible.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Tony says. After all, why would he? Judging by the picture Stalin just took, Tony’s ex-boyfriend mob boss will be here to rescue him soon.

-

Steve and Tony had met at the grocery store.

It’s a dumb place to meet, Tony knows, like something straight out of a rom-com, but it’s true. Tony had been sleep-deprived, coming down from a four-day workshop binge, and just looking for some milk; Steve had been blocking the refrigerator. Tony had snapped, and Steve had snapped back, and then they had knocked one of the cartons loose of the display and spent milk glugging everywhere over the linoleum floor. Steve had helped with the mopping, and Tony had slipped the poor workers an extra fifty when their boss wasn’t looking. Both had been intrigued, though neither had ever confessed to being the one who hit the milk.

They dated for two years: in many ways, it was the best two years of Tony’s life. With Steve, he found a sort of ease and happiness he’d only ever dreamed of, and often he found himself thinking that if the rest of his life could be like this - just this - it would be enough. He’d had a rough go of it with romance, partners always wanting something out of him, be it money or fame or company secrets, and for once, it was nice to have someone who wanted him for him. Someone he could trust.

Of course, then someone tried to mug Tony in a back alley and Tony discovered that Steve was not just Steve, upcoming artist, VA-volunteer and lover of dogs, but Steve, the Captain, a man with a death count in the four digits, the most feared mob boss in the city.

That had - thrown a wrench in things.

Tony had screamed; Steve had screamed back. Tony had cried; Steve had cried too. He’d been fallen to his knees and begged, pressed his face against Tony’s belly and promised he could do better, he could be better, he could be more. But the damage had already been done, and at the end of the night Tony found himself on the doorstep of Rhodey’s apartment, overnight bag slung over his shoulder, pillow in hand. Can I stay here for a while, he’d ask dully, and Rhodey had pulled him inside without a second thought, let him cry and yell and drink whiskey until he threw up in the bathtub and clogged the fucking drain.

Tony hadn’t gone back to Steve’s the next morning, or the next, or the morning after that. Eventually, he’d given Rhodey his key and sent him back to get the rest of Tony’s things. I’m sorry, he texted Steve, a message that was opened immediately then sat on read for months with no reply. I need space. I need time.

Now, three months later, nothing has changed but the ache in Tony’s chest where Steve used to sit. He misses him, more and more each day, but nothing else his different. How could it be? Tony still loved Steve, and Steve still lied to him. It’s nothing something you can work past easily, and maybe not at all.

Tony is still deciding, then, what his next steps are when he gets kidnapped. In that case, maybe it’s for the better; if you can’t decide what to do, you have to force a decision, right?

-

The first gunshot sounds almost six hours after Tony’s been taken.

He’s starting to get a bit impatient - this place is cold and damp and gross, and the dead-eyed stare of the goon in the corner is starting to freak Tony out a bit. He just thinking that Steve ought to be faster than this - they didn’t even leave Brooklyn, if Tony’s estimate is correct, so how hard could finding him really be? - when he hears the first noise.

It sounds like it’s coming from somewhere down the hall; a far way, maybe. You could almost mistake it for the sound of a car backfiring if you didn’t grow up around guns like Tony did, but Tony recognizes it immediately. Before the goon can move, Tony is on his feet and throwing himself forward, knocking the goon’s gun arm to the side to engage him in hand-to-hand combat.

The guy is bigger than Tony, stronger, and a hell of a lot more experienced, so it’s far from an even fight. Still, as they grapple, Tony hears more gunshots go off in quick succession, getting closer and closer, and he thinks if he can just hold out -

The goon clocks Tony in the face, and he feels something in his face pop and shatter, just as the door slams open. The man moves off Tony in a second; dimly, through watery eyes, Tony sees him fly back and hit the wall, then slump to the ground. He doesn’t move again.

“Tony,” someone says, and Tony forces his eyes to try to focus. They won’t, though: the world swims before him, hazy and indistinct. “Tony, can you hear me?”

Concussion, Tony realizes. He must have hit his head in the fight; this is a concussion. He should stay awake. He should say something. He should -

He drifts off to the sound of a warm voice saying his name.

-

Tony wakes in the hospital.

The room is bright white, but flowers litter the table at the end of the bed, bouquets of lilies and daffodils and a single bunch of velvety red roses. A machine beeps, reassuring and slow, somewhere off to Tony’s left; he’s got a tube in his hand. An IV, he thinks.

All of that, though, pales in comparison to the focal point of the room: Steve, bent over Tony’s beside, warm hand settled over Tony’s, forehead rested against the mattress. He’s snoring, quietly, like he always does when he’s really tired. Tony wonders how long Steve’s been up, how long he himself has been asleep.

Still, it feels wrong to have Steve sleeping on him like this, with this easy intimacy, and so he clears his throat. “Steve,” he says, twitching his fingers under Steve’s. “Steve, wake up.”

Steve takes a second to wake, but when he does, he jolts upward, eyes wide and frantic. “Wha- Tony?” His hand squeezes over Tony’s, before he seems to realize what he’s doing and he tugs his hand back. Tony misses the warmth. “You’re awake.”

“Yep,” Tony says. “Alive and awake.”

Steve swallows hard, nods. “Good,” he says. “Good, that’s - I’m really glad, Tony. I’m - I’m sorry you - I’m really glad.”

Tony nods, lips pursed shut. “Thanks,” he says, when he can’t think of anything else to say. “Uh.”

Steve seems to take pity on him and clears his throat. “I should be going,” he says, to Tony’s surprise. “I, uh - I wanted to make sure you were okay, but I know you don’t really want me here, so I’ll just -“

“Stay,” Tony interrupts. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say until he says it, but once he does, it feels - right.

“What?” Steve asks, eyes wide.

Tony shrugs, looking down at his blankets. “I don’t know,” he says. “I mean, the last three months haven’t fixed anything, have they? I’m still pissed at you. I still don’t understand why you did it. I still can’t trust you.” He takes a deep breath. “And I still love you. It’s a contradiction, you know. I thought some space would help me - clear my head, see the problem a bit better, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t do anything at all.”

“Oh, Tony,” Steve says, brow pinched into a frown. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for how everything happened. All of it.”

Tony nods down at his hands. “I know,” he says. “And I - I want to forgive you, Steve, I do. But it’ll take time. And effort, on both our parts. And I can’t make any promises.”

“Well,” Steve says, leaning forward, a cautious hand settling on top of Tony’s own. “I’m willing to put in the work, if you are.”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Yeah, let’s, uh - let’s see how this goes, huh?”

Tony feels tender and raw, not just physically but emotionally, like he’s bared out his internal organs for everyone to touch and feel and see. But it’s good, too. For the first time in months, Tony feels like a weight from his chest has been lifted, and Steve is smiling, eyes bright. It’s worth it, Tony thinks. He hopes it’ll be worth it.


	105. Support Group

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> STEVE IS AT A SUPPORT GROUP IN THE NEW TRAILER DID YOU REALLY EXPECT ME NOT TO WRITE SOMETHING FOR IT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst, avengers 4 spoilers for the trailer

“Hi,” the man sitting next to Steve says. “My name is John.”

“Hi, John,” the room choruses back.

They’re in an empty high school cafeteria this week, sitting in a little semi-circle of chairs, about half empty. They must have underestimated how many people would show at the new location, because usually, they try to avoid things like that: things like empty chairs or extra cups, anything that could suggest there should be more people here, people that, mysteriously or not, are gone.

“I, uh. Well. Most of you know me, here. My daughter -” John coughs, clears his throat. “My daughter is gone.”

All around the circle are tired eyes and sympathetic frowns, but not a false reassurance among them, no amount of sugared relief. They all know what is like to lose, here. Everyone does, really. Steve had been afraid to come, at first, for that very reason - how could he stand to look these people in the eye, how could he stand to sit there with them and complain about hispain, when he as good as killed their loved ones, when he should have saved them?

But Steve knew Sam would have wanted him to go, and, horrible as that thought burned, it got his ass there. He went, the first few times, in relative anonymity, until after one meeting, an old, grey-haired woman came up to him when he was getting coffee and laid her wrinkled hand on his arm.

“Thank you,” she had said, voice rough but kind. “I know you did your best.”

Steve had had to excuse himself to go choke out sobs in the bathroom, but after that, he didn’t feel quite as out of place. A few weeks later, he shared at the meetings for the first time, a rather vague commentary on loss, but it was something. It felt good, to get it off his chest. He kept coming back.

Now John says, “It’s her birthday next week, so I’m thinking about her - well, not more than usual, because I’m always thinking about her. But it feels worse, now, you know. She would have been twenty.”

John swallows hard, blinking rapidly. “I laid some flowers at her memorial, today. There were old flowers, there, too, some brown ones I left a few weeks back, and it just made me realize - nobody else goes there. It’s like -” John sniffs, shakes his head. “I know I’m not the only one who realizes she’s gone, but it feels like it, sometimes. And that hurts. Real fucking bad.”

The group waits a moment in silence, but soon it becomes clear that John isn’t planning on saying anymore. “Thank you for sharing, John,” their therapist says - a young woman named Anna who reminds Steve of Peggy in the worst of ways. “Steve, would you care to go next?”

Suddenly, every eye in the room is on Steve. He takes a deep breath. He could pass, as he has the past few weeks - and it almost feels wrong, something as trivial as his pain when John has just bared his heart and soul - but he opens his mouth anyway.

“I lost a lot of friends,” he says. His voice is rough, so he clears his throat. “I mean - we all did. That’s not unique. And I - god, I miss all of them, I really do, and I’ll always regret not being able to do more to save them. But then - there’s this one friend of mine. He - well, he was more than a friend, really.” Tears are welling in Steve’s eyes, now, but he powers on. “We didn’t end things on the best of terms. We had a big fight, said some pretty horrible things, and - I guess I always thought there’d be time to fix it. We could figure it out, you know?”

Because that’s the thing that Steve has learned, really: everything comes down to Tony, in the end. Tony’s smile and Tony’s kind brown eyes and Tony’s mind, like fire and rain. Steve has always felt too much when it comes to Tony. In the past, he could sublimate it, pretend it was rage, but there’s no denying it, anymore: Steve was in love. Steve is in love. Tony burns like a star at the center of his heart and he has no idea how to let him go.

Steve shakes his head, raising a shaking hand to wipe at his eyes. “Now it’s all I can think about. I loved him, so much. So, so, much. And it’s so fucking stupid, because I don’t think he knew. I don’t think he knew at all.”

The room is silent.

“How do you tell someone, that?” Steve asks. He sounds like a child, like he’s asking his mother for advice, but he doesn’t care. He needs his mother, he needs Bucky, he needs  _Tony,_ needs him back and here and in his arms so he can apologize and kiss him and tell him the truth. The truth that even that video tape didn’t reveal: that Steve is a coward, and hopelessly in love.

“How can you tell someone you love them when they’re dead?”

Nobody has an answer.


	106. Say My Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve takes a hit to the head in a battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> established relationship, hurt/comfort, aphasia
> 
> originally posted for fandom stocking

Steve goes down in the middle of a vicious fight with Doom, and wakes up in the hospital.

He knows this before he knows anything else; he recognizes the scratchy sheets, the white-bright light behind his eyelids, the characteristic pounding headache he always gets when the serum is working hard to heal major wounds.

“Errgh,” he groans at the ceiling. God, it’s so bright. Why is always so bright?

“Steve?” someone says beside him, and, squinting, Steve turns to find Clint sitting in the visitor’s chair beside Steve’s bed. He’s on his smartphone, but he tucks it away in his pocket when he sees Steve is up. “Hey, man, it’s good to see you up. One sec.”

He ducks out into the hallway to call for someone. With his enhanced hearing, Steve should be able to know what Clint said, but his head hurts and he can’t quite make himself listen.

A moment later, Clint returns, and this time, with him is Tony. Steve feels himself relax back against the pillows, and he takes a deep breath. Tony. He’s fine - got a butterfly bandage on his forehead and a bruise darkening on his jaw, but otherwise looking unscathed, and walking normally, too, so probably not hiding any internal injuries.

(It’s sad, really, that Steve’s husband hides life-threatening injuries so often that Steve actually has to consciously check for them. But Steve supposes that’s just part of being with Tony, and it’s not like he wants anyone else.)

Steve opens his mouth to try to speak, but before he can say anything, Tony is shushing him. “No, don’t try to speak, sweetheart,” he says, moving forward to perch on the side of the bed and take Steve’s hand in his. “Everyone is fine, Doom is down, etc. etc., but you got a bit banged up when you fell. You’ve got a bit of a brain injury. Nothing that the serum won’t fix, given a few days, but in the mean time, you’re going to have some problems speaking. You should be able to understand us fine, but you might have difficulty finding words or forming sentences. But I promise, it’s just a couple of days and then you’ll be all better. And I’ll be here the whole time.”

Despite the warnings, Steve immediately tries to speak. “Ch-ch-“ No, that’s not right. What is wrong with him?

“Shh,” Tony says again, reaching up to settle his hand on Steve’s chest. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. You trust me, don’t you? I promise it’ll be better in a few days. Alright?” Steve nods. “Alright. I love you, babe, and I promise everything is gonna be just fine.”

I know the words, Steve thinks. I know the words for -

“L-l-love. W-why.”

That’s - not right. Shit.

But Tony is grinning anyway. “Love you?”

Yes, that’s it. Steve nods.

Tony positively beams at him. “I told them you would do better than they expected,” Tony says, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Steve’s lips. It’s short and chaste and Steve wants to chase Tony when he pulls away. “Like I said, you’re going to be just fine. Okay?”

Steve opens his mouth to speak before he remembers, and snaps it shut, settling for a nod. “Good,” Tony says. “And, on the bright side, now I get to chew you out for throwing yourself in danger and you can’t fight back!” Steve frowns, and Tony amends, “Kidding, kidding. Well, mostly kidding. I could do that if I wanted to, but I don’t hate you that much, so I’ll wait until you can yell back about patriotism and courage and whatever the hell else you usually come up with. Even though, at this point, I can probably argue your side of the situation as well as you.”

That’s probably true, Steve thinks. Maybe that’s sad, but he just finds it comforting.

“Anyway,” Tony continues, “On a real positive note, you and I get three days to lie in bed doing nothing, which means it’s movie marathon time. So what do you think - White Chicks?”

They end up watching Sleepless in Seattle, because Steve’s got a soft side and Tony will indulge Steve for anything, especially when he’s sick. Tony drifts off in Steve’s arms just before the credits, probably because he’s been up worrying himself nauseous since Steve went down. Steve wraps his arm a little tighter around Tony’s shoulders and presses a kiss against Tony’s temple. He’s rewarded by Tony softening and slumping a little harder against him, face slack and mouth peeking open. He’s gorgeous, and he’s all Steve’s. Even if Steve weren’t ever able to speak again, he think he’d be happy, just like this.

(Over the next few days, Steve’s language comes back quickly; one moment, he’s struggling to think of the word for ‘water’, and the next he’s asking the nurse if he could please have meatloaf for dinner. The first word he says, though, after ‘I love you’ is Tony. What else could it be?)


	107. 1,460 Cups of Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hi,” Steve says.
> 
> Tony swallows hard, trying to find his voice. What are you supposed to say in a situation like this? Hey, what’s up? I didn’t realize you were back from being shot at. Fancy seeing you here after you’ve been gone for four motherfucking years. Didn’t realize you hated me so much you’d run that far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst, post-breakup, ambiguous ending, may be continued

It’s two in the afternoon, and Tony’s been at work for four hours when the bell over the door jangles.

Tony bites back a groan, pushing himself to his feet. He’d just finished the lunch rush and was hoping to take a bit of a rest. Apparently not.

He pastes a smile on his face and turns. “Good after-“

His words catch in his throat. Standing in the doorway, backlit by the afternoon sunshine, cap is in hand, is Steve goddamn Rogers.

 _He looks good,_ Tony thinks. Not hurt. He’s tanned, and his hair is lighter than Tony remembers it, but his eyes, those are the exact same shade of blue.

“Hi,” Steve says.

Tony swallows hard, trying to find his voice. What are you supposed to say in a situation like this?  _Hey, what’s up? I didn’t realize you were back from being shot at. Fancy seeing you here after you’ve been gone for four motherfucking years. Didn’t realize you hated me so much you’d run that far._

Dimly, Tony realizes his hands are shaking.

“Hello,” he says, and for just a moment, Steve’s smile brightens, before he continues, “Welcome to Comet Coffee. What can I get for you today?”

“Tony,” Steve says, face falling as he steps forward. “Come on.”

Tony blinks, trying his hardest to maintain his customer service smile. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, sir,” he says. “Would you like some more time to go over the menu?”

“Tony,  _please,”_ Steve says. He reaches over the counter towards Tony, and Tony can’t quite help his full-body flinch away from the touch. Steve’s face falls even farther, dropping from kicked puppy to devastated, and he takes a careful step back. “I just want to talk,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, as pleasantly as he can manage. “I’m afraid I have other customers.”

Steve glances around himself at the almost empty coffee shop, raises an eyebrow in Tony’s direction.

“Really?”

“I have other responsibilities,” Tony amends smoothly. “Would you like to place your order, now, sir?”

Steve sighs, looking down at his hands. “I - yes,” he says, “I’ll have a, uh, coffee. Black.”

“What size?” Tony asks.

“Large,” Steve says, and Tony picks up the paper cup, labels it with shaking fingers. “That’ll be $2.11,” he says, and waits as Steve fumbles for a few bills. They’re silent as Tony works the cash register; when Tony pulls out Steve’s change, Steve holds out his hand, but Tony just sets it down on the counter, pushes it over. He doesn’t want to touch him.

“That’ll be ready for you in just a minute, sir,” he says, and watches as Steve slinks back.

He’s still got a couple of hours left in his shift, but he feels syrupy and slow the way he gets sometimes before a panic attack. As soon as Bruce ducks out of the kitchen, Tony catches him and shoves him towards the cash register with a mutter of, “Break,” and heads straight for the back alley for some fresh air.

‘Fresh’ is an exaggeration, really: it smells like smoke and muck and garbage, but Tony is blissfully alone and he breathes in heaving, shaking breaths. It doesn’t do much to slow his manic heart, and he sinks to his knees, palms on the dirty gravel, and tries to breathe. In, out, in, out; he can do this. He’s done it before.

But it turns out he’s not alone.

“Oh,  _Tony,”_ someone says, and when he looks up, there’s a large figure hurrying towards him. Steve crouches down beside Tony, reaches out for his knee, but Tony flinches away, harshly. Steve falls back onto his ass like Tony’s shoved him.

“You’re a piece of shit, you know that?” he croaks. “You’re - God, you broke my fucking  _heart,_ you asshole, and now you have the balls to just show back up here? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, voice small. “I made a mistake.”

“A  _mistake?”_ Tony spits, suddenly furious. “That’s what it was to you, a goddamn  _mistake,_ oops, shattered Tony’s fucking heart, better remember not to do that again -“

“Tony,  _please,”_ Steve says, and, god, now he’s crying too. “I didn’t want to hurt you, I - I was trying  _not_ to hurt you.”

“How the hell was  _breaking up with me_ supposed to not hurt me?” Tony demands. “We dated for a  _year,_ and it was good, Steve, it was - I  _trusted_ you, I thought I was good for you, and you -“

“You were,” Steve says, reaching forward to grab Tony’s hands like he can’t help himself. “Tony, you were the most incredible thing that ever happened to me.”

Tony yanks his hands away. “And you were the worst thing that ever happened to me,” Tony says. Suddenly all of the anger has left him and he’s just exhausted. He pushes himself to his feet, legs shaky. “I loved you so much it hurt. I suppose that should have been a sign.”

“Tony -“

“Fuck you, Rogers,” Tony says, and walks off, leaving Steve alone in the grimy alley. It’s what he deserves: he did it to Tony, after all.


	108. Fly With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve draws Tony's wings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wingfic, get together
> 
> originally posted for fandom stocking

It’s not that Tony hates his wings.

In a way, he loves them, more than he ever could have loved the wings he was born with. He was just so lucky to have them, to be able to come back from an injury and, more than that, make it into a strength. Sure, he lost the silky grey vestigial wings he was born with, but now he has red and gold mechanical masterpieces that are actually capable of taking him soaring up into the sky.

Despite that, though, he knows they look - weird. Unnatural at best, utterly unsettling at worst. They’re shaped generally like wings, but they lack the individual feathers and easy flow of biological wings. If you’re not used to them, they can be disconcerting, like seeing part of an airplane grafted onto a person, so, as proud as Tony is to have been able to create them, he does his best to divert attention.

So it’s strange, when, one day, he emerges from the workshop for dinner and finds Steve’s open sketchbook splayed on a couch cushion. Tony is just going to close it and move it to somewhere safe when the subject of Steve’s drawing catches his eye: it’s him. Tony. It’s not just Tony, though; it’s Tony from behind, his wings spread wide and gleaming, undeniably the focus of the sketch. Tony’s turned to glance back at the viewer, and he’s grinning, eyes bright. He looks lively, warm, loved. Is this how Steve sees him?

“Jarvis,” Tony says, finally, after staring at the drawing wordlessly for several long moments. “Send Steve.”

Tony can’t tear his gaze away from the paper, can’t stop looking at his own image. Maybe it’s narcissistic, but he thinks he looks beautiful, the most beautiful he’s ever looked.

He’s still staring at the sketchbook when Steve arrives, a little out of breath, from the stairwell. His pure white wings peek out from behind his shoulders, ruffled but gleaming. “Jarvis said you needed me - Tony?”

Even without looking, Tony can tell the moment Steve spots the sketchbook in Tony’s hands, because he goes quiet. “Where did you find that?” he asks, finally.

Tony swallows hard. “The couch,” he says. His voice is raspy like he hasn’t spoken in hours. His heart feels ready to burst out of his ribcage. “You left it here.”

There’s another pause. “So,” Steve says. “I guess now you know.”

“Yeah,” Tony agrees. It would be impossible not to see it, when it’s staring him in the face like this: Steve loves him. Steve is in love with him. Steve thinks he’s precious and lovely and warm and Tony -

Tony is standing here gawping at a piece of paper when Steve is standing only a few feet away.

Tony tosses down the sketchbook and turns, only catching a glimpse of Steve’s startled expression before he’s got his hands on either side of Steve’s jaw and is kissing him breathless. Steve’s mouth is warm and pliant under Tony’s, but he seems to get with the program soon enough, reaching up to encircle his big hands around Tony’s waist, kissing back just as hard.

When Tony finally leans back he’s breathing hard. “You love me,” he rasps.

Steve closes his eyes. “I love you,” he says.

“I love you, too,” Tony whispers, and leans back in for round two.


	109. Scarf Weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship

“I’m cold,” Tony whines, for the third time in as many minutes.

Steve sighs, glancing over at his boyfriend. He’s pink-cheeked, hands stuffed in his pockets and nose tucked down into the collar of his coat. It’s his own fault for not wearing warmer clothes when the windchill is -10, but still. Five more minutes of this and his ears are at risk for falling right off.

So this time, instead of replying with a snarky comment about how Tony well and truly is a dumb genius, Steve sighs and starts unwrapping the scarf from around his own neck.

“Here,” he says, winding the scarf around Tony. “Chin up.”

“What?” Tony bats weakly at Steve’s hands, a show of resistance. “No, you’ll get cold.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’ll be fine, Tony, it’s just a little wind.”

“It’s  _Siberia_ out here,” Tony argues. “Wait, here. I’m a genius.”

He removes the scarf, and Steve’s about to protest and bodily force it back on Tony - at least one of them should be wearing it, after all - when he sees what Tony is doing. He’s knotting the ends together, like some big, loose infinity scarf, and when he’s satisfied with his double knot he tosses one end of it over Steve’s head like a lasso.

“See?” he says, tucking the other end around his own neck. He tugs up the fabric so it covers his mouth and nose, and his next words are muffled. “Now we can both share.”

The monster scarf is questionable - Tony’s a good bit shorter than Steve, loathe as he usually is to admit it, and the scarf tugs and stretches at a strange angle, not laying quite flat against Steve’s skin - but still, he feels himself warming up at the gesture. He snuggles down into the scarf, reaching over to slip his hand in Tony’s pocket so he can hold his hand.

“Next time, you bring your own scarf,” Steve says, going for stern, but he’s smiling as he says it. It doesn’t matter - it’s not like Tony can see it from behind the scarf anyway.


	110. Reverse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve makes dinner, and also makes Tony emotional.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dom/sub au but all care no hurt, established relationship, hurt/comfort
> 
> originally written for fandom stocking

There’s not a lot that can bring Tony close to a breakdown.

He’s been through a lot in his life: Afghanistan, palladium poisoning, countless betrayals by friends that should have had his back, doms that should have protected him. At first, it had hurt, but over the years, the delicate flesh around Tony’s heart had hardened and frozen, making a near-impenetrable wall that had served Tony well.

Still, though, it wasn’t perfect, which meant some things still broke through. Things like the board calling an emergency meeting without letting Tony know; things like a big merger falling through at the last minute; things like Tony’s favorite scientist quitting because of sexual harassment from one of her colleagues; things like all of this, combined, in a single Monday afternoon.

By the time Tony gets home for the evening, he’s bone-tired and ready to drop. He just wants to go to bed and wake up when the crisis is over - but, of course, he doesn’t get to do that. Instead, he gets to stay up all night working on policy changes and reparations and maybe catch a few catnaps while waiting for responses to his midnight emails.

He does have time for a quick dinner, though, so when Tony gets home he heads straight for the kitchen. He’s starving, having skipped lunch today, and he’s daydreaming about leftover pizza and caffeinated soda when he steps into the kitchen and - stops.

Because Steve is there. Steve, in jeans and a soft t-shirt, standing over the stove, stirring something bubbling in a pot. It smells heavenly, spicy and rich and tomatoey, like soup or chili or pasta sauce. As Tony stands there, Steve turns to face him, with an easy smile, and he’s wearing an apron, and he’s acting like this is the most natural thing in the world. For a dom to cook dinner for their sub. Like that’s not the exact opposite of how things always go.

And Tony’s had such a shit day that his emotions were already bubbling on the surface, and this just puts him over the edge. So he can’t help the way his breath hitches, throat growing tight, and he presses his eyes closed against the tears suddenly welling.

“Tony?” Steve sounds concerned, Tony thinks, and he should try to rectify that, but he knows if he opens his mouth he’ll just start sobbing. “Hey, sweetheart, what happened?”

Tony shakes his head, and a moment later, feels Steve’s hands on his shoulders, always so gentle and careful. Tony sways forward into the touch, and a moment later, Steve’s wrapping his arms around Tony, pulling him into a soft hug.

Tony buries his face in Steve’s neck, breathing in the scent of him. Steve’s hands stroke slowly up and down Tony’s spine, and he feels himself relax despite the tightness in his chest.

Finally, Tony sniffs and pulls back. “The food’s going to boil over,” he says, wiping at his eyes, but Steve doesn’t move away.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Steve asks after a moment.

Tony laughs wetly, shaking his head. “There’s nothing really to talk about,” he says. “Just - just a kind of shit day, and then you - you-“ His voice cracks and his cuts himself off. “It’s nothing,” he says. “Just - really love you.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs, voice pained. He cups Tony’s face in one hand, tilts it up gently so he’s looking Steve in the eye. “You have no idea how much I love you. How perfect you are.”

“Steve,” Tony starts, flushing, but Steve cuts him off.

“No,” he says. “Don’t argue. You’ve had a hard day. Just let me take care of you, honey.”

“Okay,” Tony says softly.

“Okay,” Steve repeats, and leans in to give him a quick kiss. “Sit down, the food’s almost done.”

He steps away, and without thinking, Tony finds himself obeying. Already, he call feel the drowsy edges of subspace lapping at the edges of his consciousness.

“Take off your suit jacket,” Steve says. “Your cufflinks, and your tie.”

Tony does, fumbling at the edges. In the end, Steve steps over to help him unhook the links, pull the tie over his neck, but he doesn’t look annoyed or angry, just smiles and presses a kiss to Tony’s forehead before stepping back to the stove.

“Now, we’re going to eat, and then we’re going to take a shower, and then we’re going to bed, okay?” Steve says. “No staying up late tonight. Work can wait until the morning.”

“Okay,” Tony agrees readily. Steve sets a plate on the table - pasta with mushrooms and spinach, garlic bread, beets - then pulls up a chair beside Tony. There’s only one fork.

He stabs a beet, lifts it up to Tony’s lips. “Eat,” he says, and Tony obeys.

They make their way through the plate like that, then a second one, until finally Tony is full and sluggish in his chair, and Steve, too, is sated. Steve steps aside, then, leaving the plate in the sink before returning to Tony, pulling him up gently by the shoulders.

“Shower, now,” he says, and leads Tony to the bathroom, helping him shed his clothes, rubbing softly at tight muscles and pressing kisses to old cuts and bruises as he goes, until they’re both naked and the bathroom is filling with steam.

The water is the perfect temperature, and Tony sighs as Steve pulls him under it, limp as a puppet as Steve washes his body, his hair, gives his scalp a little massage. He must ask Jarvis to steam up the room, because when Tony steps out of the shower, he’s still pleasantly warm. Steve dries him off carefully with a soft, plush towel, then guides him gently to the bed. Tony feels like he’s floating, disconnected from reality, as Steve tucks him under the covers then slides into bed after him. How did he get here? How, so quickly, did this go from one of the worst work days of his life to a calm, peaceful evening?

After a moment, Tony musters the energy to turn and press his face to Steve’s chest.

“Love you,” Tony mumbles against Steve’s collarbone.

He feels the featherlight touch of Steve’s lips on the top of his head. “I love you too, sweetheart,” Steve whispers. “Sleep. I’ll be here in the morning.”

So Tony does.


	111. Counterclockwise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has been presumed dead for seven months when Tony gets the call from SHIELD.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hurt/comfort, presumed dead, reunion
> 
> originally written for fandom stocking

Steve has been missing, presumed dead for seven months when Tony gets the call from SHIELD.

He has caller ID, so he knows it’s Hill, and for a moment, he almost doesn’t answer. He hasn’t spoken to anyone from SHIELD since their well-publicized fallout almost three months ago, now, when SHIELD had told Tony they were going to be unable to look for Steve anymore without further leads, and Tony had had a complete mental breakdown, screaming at Fury until his voice went hoarse. Since then, he’s kept looking by himself, spending every spare moment and dime on the search for Steve, but through all that time: nothing. Not a single lead or clue or even a hint of a clue. Every day that passed without any new information, Tony felt his heart grow a little heavier in his chest, his hopes a little more hollow.

But it’s Hill calling him directly, and Tony feels like he owes her after all the things he said to her a few months back. That’s the only reason he picks up the phone.

“Tony,” Hill says, as soon as Tony answers, before he can even say hello. “You need to come into SHIELD. We’ve found Steve.”

Tony’s world falls out from under him.

“You - what?” Tony chokes out. He fumbles for something to lean against. “Are you serious?”

“He’d been captured by some overeager neo-Nazis,” Hill says. “Broke himself free, stumbled to a gas station, and a good Samaritan gave us the call. He’s right here, and we’re treating him, now, but he’s going to be fine.”

“Oh my god,” Tony whispers. “Oh my god.” Steve is alive. Tony’s husband is alive. After days, weeks, months of nothing at all, suddenly there’s this: Steve, home and safe.

The next half hour is a blur; if asked, he wouldn’t be able to say how he got downstairs, got in the cab, got to SHIELD. It feels like one minute he’s in the penthouse, and the next, he blinks his eyes and he’s following Hill down a stark hospital hallway.

“He’s right here,” Hill says, coming to a stop in front of one of the doors. “He-“

But Tony doesn’t wait to hear what she’s saying before pushing his way into the hospital room. Immediately, Tony’s eyes settle on Steve.

Steve is grimy and thin, fingers bony, cheekbones hungry, skin sallow against the sheets. And he’s here. And he’s alive. Alive and breathing in this stupid fucking hospital room, and Tony can feel the tears welling in his eyes even before Steve’s gaze lands on him, and he stops.

“Hi,” Tony whispers, as Steve’s lips curl up into a smile.

“Hi,” Steve croaks, and without conscious decision, Tony is stumbling forward and reaching, not sure for what but for any part of Steve, any part of him that’s warm and alive and here.

His hands land on Steve’s face, one cupping his cheek, the other splayed over the back of his neck. Steve’s clearly too weak to move much, but he brings up one hand to clutch at Tony’s wrist, holding it in place against his jaw.

“I missed you,” Tony manages.

“I missed you, too,” Steve says. “So much.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, closing the distance between them to press kisses to his forehead, his cheeks, his nose. “I am so, so sorry.”

“I’m here now,” Steve says. He tugs on Tony’s wrist until Tony leans close enough for Steve to kiss him.

It’s short and sweet, and still when Steve leans back he’s breathing hard. “Okay, relax,” Tony says, stroking his fingers through Steve’s hair. “Just breathe.”

Steve tightens his grip on Tony’s wrist, but does as Tony asks, breathing slow and steady. “Stay with me,” he says, when he’s regained his breath, “Please, just - stay with me.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Tony whispers, leaning down to press a kiss to Steve’s temple, his hairline. “No force in this world could tear me away from you right now. I’m not going anywhere.”

Steve closes his eyes and breathes deep. “Thank you,” he croaks.

Tony feels hot tears roll down his cheeks. “Please don’t thank me,” he whispers. “Oh, sweetheart.”

Steve just nestles closer to Tony and doesn’t reply. Tony grips him tight. This time, he’s not letting him go.


	112. Keep You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve starts getting asthma attacks again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> established relationship, aging, hurt/comfort
> 
> originally written for fandom stocking

The first asthma attack doesn’t even really feel like one.

At first, Steve just thinks he’s got something caught in his throat. He’s just reading, and the book is a bit dusty, and maybe it kicked up something into the air, something that’s gotten stuck in his throat. But he coughs and breathes deep but it doesn’t knock loose. If anything, it just gets worse: a progressive tightening of his throat that makes him feel like he’s breathing through water.

Asthma, he realizes suddenly. It’s an asthma attack. How the hell is he having an asthma attack?

The attack abates after a while, but it leaves Steve feeling deeply unsettled. He hasn’t had an asthma attack since the serum. What the hell must be happening to him?

He knows he should tell Tony, or at least Bruce, but he convinces himself he doesn’t have to. It might have been a one-off thing, he rationalizes, and he doesn’t want to freak Tony out over nothing. Because that’s what this is: nothing.

But it keeps happening. Over the next few weeks, Steve has several asthma attacks, and each time his silence gets harder to justify. Finally, though, the charade falls apart when, one afternoon, Steve gets an asthma attack so bad he thinks he’s going to pass out. It hits him suddenly, while he’s waiting for the coffee to brew: one minute, he can breathe, and the next, his throat is closing up.

Steve presses a hand to his chest, falling forward as his vision blacks out around the edges. It’s just an asthma attack, he tells himself, no worse than some of the ones he’s had before, but it certainly is worse than those he’s had in the last few weeks; he can’t remember how to not breathe.

“Shit,” he hears, vaguely, from somewhere in the vicinity, and a moment later there’s a warm hand on his shoulder, another cupping his jaw. Tony. “Jarvis, send someone with an inhaler right now.”

Steve tries to speak - wants to say Tony’s name - but he can’t breathe in enough air. He reevaluates his previous conclusions; maybe this is as bad as his worst attacks before the serum.

“Okay, it’s okay, baby, just trying to breathe with me,” Tony babbles, rubbing circles on Steve’s back. “Try to match your breathing with mine, okay? I know it’s hard but just try, that’s it. It’s fine, baby, you’re going to be okay.”

Steve tries to focus on Tony’s words, but it’s so hard when his head is swimming like this. He leans into Tony’s touch, lets him hold him upright, as the world goes darker and darker.

Finally, though, there’s a faint beep - the sound of an elevator arriving - and heavy footsteps, and Tony is saying something, and then a piece of plastic is being shoved between his lips.

“Breathe in,” Tony demands, and Steve does his best to take a shuddering breath. When he does, there’s a spritz of something in his mouth,. A moment later, the horrible pressure in his chest is easing.

“Again,” Tony orders, and Steve obeys. Oxygen floods back into his lungs, and Steve gasps around the mouthpiece of the - inhaler, it must be, as his vision clears and the world comes back into focus.

“Better?” Tony asks, after a few more moments of Steve just taking deep breaths, and Steve nods.

“Thank you,” he rasps. His throat is raw, like it’s been grated by sandpaper.

Tony doesn’t reply, bringing up a hand so he can brush away the hair on Steve’s forehead. His eyes are dark and worried, his brow furrowed. “What the hell was that, Steve?”

Steve shakes his head, closing his eyes. He still feels raw and tired, doesn’t really want to get into this - but, of course, Tony isn’t that patient.

“You haven’t had an asthma attack since the serum,” Tony says, “Have you?”

Steve doesn’t reply.

“Steve?” Tony demands, after a moment more of silence. “What -“

“I’ve -“ Steve coughs. “I’ve had a couple. Recently.”

“How recently?”

Steve swallows hard. “Over the last couple of weeks.”

“Steve,” Tony says. “You can’t -“

“I know,” Steve interrupts.

“This could be - Steve, we need to -“

“I know,” Steve says again.

“I can run some tests,” Bruce pipes up from behind Steve, and Steve almost jumps when he realizes he’s there. But of course he’s there - someone had to bring the inhaler.

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Tony says. “Let’s do that now.”

“Tony -“ Bruce starts, tone almost warning.

“It’s fine,” Steve interrupts. “It’s - we should. Run some tests.”

If anything, Steve’s admission just makes Tony look more worried. “Yeah, let’s go. Right now, let’s go.”

They spend the afternoon in the lab, taking blood samples and tissue samples and pricking Steve’s fingers and waiting for them to heal. Finally, when they’re coming up on dinner and Steve is about to pass out, having been made to run eight miles at a five-minute pace he can barely sustain.

“Look, I don’t know what happened, but the serum, it’s - “ Bruce shakes his head, pulling his glasses off his nose so they hang around his neck, “It’s destabilized.”

“But what does that mean?” Tony presses. He hasn’t stopped touching Steve all afternoon, keeping a hand on his shoulder or knee or thigh. “I mean, clearly he’s not suddenly reverted to his pre-serum state, so -“

“Well, it’s destabilized, not reversed,” Bruce says. “It looks to me like Steve’ll keep the benefits the serum has already given him, he just - won’t get any more. He won’t heal quickly anymore. He won’t have enhanced strength anymore. His VO2 max, his recovery period, his metabolism - basically, he’s just average now.

“And the asthma, that’s a persistent thing the serum was always healing him from, not a one-time thing like a stab wound. So he’s got asthma again. And -“

“And he’s aging,” Tony interrupts. “He’s aging, isn’t he?”

Bruce nods. “At the pace of a regular human.”

Tony looks over at Steve, and Steve is surprised to find tears in his eyes. “You’re a few years ahead of me yet,” Steve jokes, and Tony squawks, batting at Steve’s shoulder.

“You shit,” he says. “I’m twenty-five, remember?”

“Right,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. “I’ve been married to a twenty-five year old for twenty-two years. Because that’s normal.”

“Steve,” Tony says, his voice cracking on the name, and Steve can’t help but pull Tony closer to him, so they’re pressed together, hip to shoulder.

“I’ll just - give you a moment,” Bruce mumbles, and then he’s gone, leaving Steve and Tony alone in the lab.

“I’m aging,” Steve says. “I’m not enhanced anymore.”

“No,” Tony agrees, brushing a thumb over Steve’s cheek. “You okay with that?”

Steve considers for a moment, then shrugs. “You know, I didn’t think I would be, but - I want to grow old with you. I want to retire and, and -“

“You could be an artist,” Tony says softly. “Be my kept man.”

“You’re not going to retire with me?”

“Oh, I’ll retire with you,” Tony says. “Spend all day in the lab tinkering. It’s a dream. My hobbies just make a lot more money than yours.”

Steve snorts, tightening his grip on Tony’s hip. “Arrogant.”

“Correct,” Tony counters. “Are you - are you serious? Are we doing this?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I think we are.”

“We should get a house,” Tony says. “In Brooklyn, maybe.”

“You hate Brooklyn.”

“But you love it,” Tony says.

Steve considers a moment before shaking his head. “No,” he says, “We should find somewhere we both love. A true dream house, right?”

“Yeah,” Tony says, grinning so wide it looks like his cheeks are going to split. “Exactly.”


	113. Limeade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’re three hours in to a twelve hour drive when Tony sees a sign and goes, “Oooh, Sonic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, roadtrip
> 
> originally written for fandom stocking

They’re three hours in to a twelve hour drive when Tony sees a sign and goes, “Oooh, Sonic.”

“Sonic?” Steve asks. “That’s the hedgehog, right?” He’s pretty sure he’s heard Clint mention that before - yeah, Sonic the Hedgehog, that’s a distinctly familiar phrase - but when he glances over at Tony, he’s just staring at him, looking faintly outraged.

“You’ve never been to Sonic?” Tony splutters. “That’s ridiculous - no, that’s unpatriotic, here, get off at this exit, we’re getting you a damn limeade.”

Fifteen minutes later, they’re chilling in their car in the parking lot, munching down on fried pickles and chili cheese tots as Tony blabs through his full mouth about the history of the drive-in diner. Steve, of course, knows some of it - unlike the air conditioner or the digital camera, this was something he was familiar with before he went into the ice - but it’s still nice, to hear Tony talk of it. Yes, the half-chewed lumps of burger stuck between his teeth are less than attractive, but he’s so enthusiastic. Sometimes it seems little can get him enthusiastic like this, or at least, little Steve can understand: as interested as he is in machines, nobody can talk tech like Tony Stark.

“- practical, anyway,” Tony finishes. “Still, it’s a nice kind of nostalgia.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, taking a slurp of his drink. Surprisingly, he finds he really means it. Nothing about the drive-in itself is particularly nostalgic - Steve never had nearly enough for the luxury of a car, not that there were really any drive-ins in Brooklyn anyway - but this easy camaraderie of chatting and eating junk food with someone you love. It brings Steve back to afternoons spent at the soda shop or smoking chains of candy cigarettes out on the rickety fire escape, feet dangling out over the trash-filled alleyway.

“Fry?” Tony offers, interrupting Steve’s thoughts. Steve glances over at him, smiles, and takes a few. It was good of Tony to come with him on this little trip. Steve had been planning on driving to Kentucky solo - intending to meet up with Gabe’s son and talk about his father - but when Tony had volunteered, he’d immediately demanded a road trip. “Nobody wants to drive twelve hours by themselves,” Tony said, which was true. “Come on, it’ll be fun. We can even take a little jaunt down to Tennessee, see the Elvis Museum. It’s garish and ridiculous, which means it’s amazing.”

Tony has far better things to do than take a random trip to Kentucky - run his company, for one - so Steve had tried to politely decline. But Tony had pushed, and eventually Steve had agreed. Now, he’s very glad he did.

“Didn’t the menu say they had milkshakes?” Steve says, tipping the last of the fried pickles into his mouth. He chews, swallows. “I want a milkshake.”

“Ooh!” Tony flails out an excited hand to smack Steve on the chest. “Their banana shakes are the shit. Oh, we’re getting, like, four of them, you’ll love it.”

Steve smiles at him. “I’m sure I will.”

After all, he’s loving the trip so far.


	114. Close Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve takes a hit in the field meant for Tony; Tony is less than pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> established relationship, hurt/comfort, angst w/ happy ending

Some days are better than others, as an Avenger. Some days, Tony gets to lounge around in his pent house apartment with the peak of human perfection curled up at his side, eating Chinese food and watching old action movies and kissing lazily when the fight scenes get too ridiculous to watch. Other days, though, turn out more like today: never ending days with board meetings and Senate inquiries and then, just as you’re ready to go home and flop on the couch and never get back up, an alien invasion of furious robots with laser eyes and a drive to kill.

By the time the Avengers are up in the air, there’s already dozens of bodies on the pavement. It’s not that the Avengers were slow, just that the robots were faster - they just appeared, as if out of thin air, and started shooting blinding beams of energy out of their eyes, beams that incinerated whatever they touched. Luckily, this is New York, and after the Chitauri, defense systems have improved. Within ten minutes, the streets have been cleared, and as many civilians as possible have been herded underground as the Avengers battle the hoard.

They’re doing - okay. The robots are a formidable enemy, but they go down easily enough when their circuit boards are hit, and Tony thinks if he can just get a closer look at this things he could confirm what kind of weaponry can take them down.

Tony tells the others as much over the comms. “EMP may be our best option,” he says, as he banks hard around the corner of an apartment building. The robot, damn it, just follows at a similarly sharp angle. “I can come down and we can give it a - oh, shit!”

Another robot has appeared - genuinely out of nowhere, and has someone figured out teleportation before Tony and not told him? rude - and flies straight into Tony’s chest, sending him flying backwards and bouncing off the sharp steel corner of a building.

“Tony?” Steve asks over the comms, concern slipping into his professional voice. “Everything all right?”

“Fine,” Tony huffs, managing to get a hand around the back of the robots quasi-head and rip out some of its essential wires. It goes dead in his arms, and he lets it fall to the pavement, careful to check for any innocent bystanders. “This fucking thing came out of nowhere. How’s your new suit holding up?”

Tony can practically hear Steve’s smile over the comms. “Just fine.”

“Just fine?” Tony asks. “I put a lot of work into that, Rogers, there’s  _vibranium_ in that suit -“

“And I thanked you for it yesterday when you gave it to me. Now we’re in the middle of something. Focus, Avenger.”

Tony rolls his eyes, though he knows Steve can’t see him. “Party pooper. Whatever. Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yeah - EMP.”

“Already on it,” Hill says over the comms. “Commencing in 3, 2 -“

“Wait, what?” Tony manages, before suddenly his repulsers stutter and die and Tony goes careening down towards the pavement.

“Oh, fuck -“ Tony manages to twist his body just sightly, despite the heavy weight of the armor, so he can land on his back. Still, he skids across the pavement and into the side of a bus, which crumples around him like tinfoil.

Tony groans. This is not how he was hoping to end this day, not in the slightest -

“Tony!” faintly, Tony can make out the sound of someone calling his name. In person, it must be - his comms went down with the suit. “Shit, someone call medical, Tony’s hurt -“

“‘m fine,” Tony groans. The sound is muffled by the suit but Tony’s sure Steve’s superhearing can make it out. “Just that stupid EMP - help me up, will you?”

“Are you sure?” Steve asks, and Tony can just picture the look on his face right now, the furrowed brow and wide eyes. “I don’t want you to get hurt -“

“I’m fine, it was only a few stories, just help me outta here.”

There’s a pause like Steve doesn’t want to, but a moment later, there’s a sound like metal tearing, and Tony is being gently tugged free from the wreckage of the bus, out onto the street.

“Great,” Tony sighs, clicking a button on the inside of his gauntlet that sends it falling off his wrist. He does the same with the other hand, then reaches up for the outside latches to pull his helmet off. He squints against the light and finds Steve’s worried face looking down at him. “Okay, I’m good, go back and get the robots.”

“The robots are down,” Steve says, “The EMP took them out, too, just stay down, medical is coming.”

“I’m fine,” Tony huffs, heaving himself up on one hand. “Let me just get this thing off me, all right? Help me with the chestplate latch.”

Steve looks dubious, but he reaches down to press the hidden hinges nonetheless, freeing Tony from the weight of the monstrous chest plate. Tony sighs in relief as it clatters down to the ground. “Now that I can actually move again -“

“Tony!”

Tony doesn’t move in time, doesn’t even turn fast enough to watch it happen. One second, Steve is beside him, and the next, he’s gone, and by the time Tony turns around it’s to find Steve sprawled on the pavement at an awkward angle, a burning black hole in the center of his uniform, another one of those horrible, horrible robots hovering above him.

“Steve!” Tony fumbles for his gauntlet, but before he can do much of anything, there’s a bolt of lightning and the robot goes black and falls. Tony scrambles towards Steve without a second though, turning him onto his back, and oh, that’s not good, that’s very not good -

Steve’s got a circle burned into his chest the size of Tony’s palm. It looks like his suit is seared right onto his skin, and Tony simultaneously wants to pull it back to see what’s under it and also never do that. He’s just leaning in to check for a pulse when Steve’s coughs and his eyes flicker open.

“What happened?”

“You  _idiot.”_ Tony thinks he might be shaking. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You were gonna get hit.” Steve moves as if to try to get up, and immediately Tony pushes him back down.

“I’m wearing a giant metal suit!” Tony yells. “Shit, this looks bad, you need medical -“

“I’m fine,” Steve tries, but Tony ignores him.

“Is your comm still on? Give it here.” Tony yanks the comm out of Steve’s ear without fanfare. “Anybody, we need -“

“Medics are on their way,” Natasha interrupts. “ETA one minute.”

“Really, Tony, it’s not that bad.”

Tony glares at him. “That beam  _incinerated_ people, and it just hit you in the chest. You are not fine.”

Steve sighs but doesn’t argue anymore, and soon enough, the medics are arriving on the scene. Much as it pains him, Tony sits back and lets them do their job, prodding and examining Steve’s wound. Eventually, despite Steve’s protests, they decide he needs a full examination and load him onto a stretcher and into the back of the nearby ambulance.

“Tony, I’m fine,” Steve says, even as they slide the stretcher into the vehicle.

Tony can’t look at him. “You coming?” one of the medics asks him, and he knows he should say yes, should go with Steve and hold his hand, but instead he finds himself shaking his head. “I need to take care of my armor,” he says. “I’ll see you back at the Tower.”

He very carefully doesn’t watch for Steve’s reaction, instead bending over by where his discarded pieces of armor sits. He waits until he hears the ambulance start moving to activate the failsafe jumpstart held inside the chest plate. The arc reactor stutters up with a blue glow, and the gauntlets soon follow. Tony offers a quick update on the busy comms - “Steve’s headed to medical, so far seems stable” - before turning off his commlink and taking off into the air.

He heads straight for the Tower. He knows he should probably go to medical and he can get a report on Steve’s status straight from the doctor’s mouth, but instead all he can think about is Steve’s old uniform, tucked away in it’s usual nook in the workshop. The bodies they’d found had been charred, almost to dust, and Tony can’t stop picturing what might have happened if Steve had been wearing that suit, instead of the one enhanced with vibranium.

He decides to find out.

“Jarvis,” he calls as he strides into the workshop, careful command almost managing to hide the remnants of shaking terror in his voice. “I want the specs on Steve’s old suit up, plus all the data you can get on what happened today.”

“Certainly,” Jarvis says, and the blueprints for Steve’s suit, as well as rough video footage from a random CCTV camera, appear on his desktop.

“Okay, I want a simulation. This situation, but substitute Steve’s new armor for his old - use the old fight and stress data - and run it right back to the moment before it was hit.”

Jarvis hesitates. “Sir, if I may -“

“No,” Tony snaps, “You may not. Run the simulation.”

There’s a moments pause, like Jarvis is considering disobeying him, but eventually his programming wins out a a little blue hologram appears floating above the workbench.

Tony watches, heart in his throat, as the last few seconds before the hit unfold in slow motion. The robot whirls in the air, searching for targets. Tony rises slowly from where he’d crumpled on the pavement, stodgy in his banged up amor. He’s not looking at the robot. It turns. Steve leaps into the line of fire.

The blast hits him dead on the chest, and Tony flicks a hand to zoom the simulation. The energy beam, or whatever the fuck it was - he needs to get his hands on that robot - immediately incinerates the chest panel of Steve’s old suit. It blows right through him, like a hole punch, burning away everything within a circle diameter no larger than the size of Tony’s arc reactor in Steve’s chest. It cuts his heart in half. He dies choking.

Tony can hear his breaths, like choppy waves. He shoves away from the table. “Off,” he says, but doesn’t look back to watch the simulation disappear. Instead, he makes for the bathroom, and reaches the sink in just enough time to vomit up the watery remnants of his stomach.

He dry heaves a few more times before his stomach begins to settle. He can’t get the image out of his head: even in pixelated blue, he can see it, what it would have looked like to find Steve in a pool of his own blood on the pavement, eyes blank and unseeing, driven straight through with a goddamn apple corer because Tony wasn’t good enough to save him. He’s never been enough.

Part of him wants to go see Steve immediately, so he can check his vitals and examine his wound and make sure he’s okay in person. A bigger part of him, though, thinks he might just lose it if he does, so instead, once he’s rinsed his mouth out with tap water and choked down a few sips, he goes and lays down on the couch. Alone, he curls up in the dirty afghan Steve made him three Christmases ago, when he first started knitting. It’s got loose yarn and is starting to unspool around the edges, but it’s one of Tony’s favorite things that he owns.

He lays under the blanket and stares at the ceiling for a long, long while before he finally gets to sleep.

-

Some hours later, he’s woken by a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He scrunches his nose and wriggles away from the touch, back into the soft of bed and sleep. Except - this can’t be his bed, it’s entirely too springy and lumpy for that, and why would he be down in the workshop -

Everything comes back to him in a flash, and immediately, he’s jolting upward. He has to check with Jarvis, he has to see how Steve is doing, he needs to immediately start fabrication on new suits for all the rest of the Avengers, he needs -

And then he realizes that Steve is the one who woke him. He’s standing in front of Tony, a mug of still-steaming coffee in hand and a cautious smile on his face. “Morning, Shellhead,” he says.

Tony’s confusion turns quickly to anger. “What the hell are you doing up?” he demands, leaping to his feet. He snatches the coffee out of Steve’s hands and sets it down on the counter. “You should be in medical, did they even clear you to leave?”

“Tony, I’m fine,” Steve protests, but allows Tony to manhandle him down to the couch. “Really, I wasn’t even that badly hurt. They could have shown you, if you had come yesterday.”

Logically, Tony knows Steve probably didn’t mean it that way, but to him, it sounds accusatory. He raises an eyebrow, anger flaring for a new reason. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Steve sighs. “I just meant -“

“No, I don’t care what you meant, I care what you said. What, are you mad I wasn’t in medical with you yesterday? Say it.”

“I’m not  _mad,”_ Steve says carefully. “I was just - surprised you weren’t there, that’s all.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize there was a rulebook for when your husband acts recklessly and almost gets himself killed, giving  _you_ a minor heart attack in the process -“

“Honey, I’m fine -“

“You’ve got a wound over half your chest, bruised muscles and broken ribs, don’t think I don’t know about the broken ribs, and you’re going to pretend you’re fine? No, you don’t get to do that, because it is not  _fair_ that I have to sit here and worry myself  _sick_ about you when you threw your own damn self into the line of fucking fire -“

“Tony,” Steve interrupts, “Come on, I was just trying to protect you-“

“And the way to do that is to get yourself killed?” Tony demands. He feels like he’s tumbling out of control, even in the quiet stillness of the workshop. There’s a bone-soaking terror in him, and blanketing it a simmering anger, ready to bubble over.

Steve sighs. “It’s not like I had much time to think about it. That thing was coming right for you.”

“So you decided the best option was to die.” Tony swallows hard, shaking his head. “You know, you talk a big game about trust and teamwork, but when it comes down to it, you’re more eager to make a reckless sacrifice than any of us.”

“It was the best option,” Steve says. He doesn’t even sound regretful, just frank and sure. “Come on, in my place, would you really have done anything different?”

“Yeah,” Tony snaps immediately, “I would have blasted the fucking bot to bits.”

Steve just sighs again. “You’re being irrational.”

“And you’re being completely unfair.” Tony shakes his head roughly. “I don’t know how you expect me to just sit back and let you be a fucking idiot. This isn’t just about you, Steve, and it pisses me off to no fucking end that you can’t just sit back for a second and consider what I would actually fucking want.”

Steve huffs. “What, because you want to die?”

“Because I want you to  _live!”_ Tony explodes. “You fucking dumbass, if you really were doing what was best for me you would stay the hell out of the way!”

Steve’s jaw is tight, eyes bright. “If that’s what you think is best for you, you’re wrong.”

“And if that’s what you think, you’re a fucking asshole,” Tony says immediately.

Silence. For a long, long moment, they just stare at each other, neither breaking or even bending slightly in the wind. Finally, Steve rises to his feet without his expression changing for a second.

“I’ll be in our bedroom, when you decide to be rational about this,” he says, and turns for the elevator.

Tony laughs, a hollow thing. “Wow. Good one. Way to be an adult.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, poker face unchanging as the doors slide closed. Then Tony is left alone, stuck in his lab with nothing but his own aching fear and slowly dying anger.

But he ignores both of them, turning to the workbench. “Jarvis, pull up the rest of the team’s suits. We need upgrades all around.”

“Certainly, sir,” Jarvis says, and they appear in hologram, Widow, Wilson, Barnes. Tony pulls up a tablet and starts working, determinedly ignoring the hollow pull in his chest.

-

It’s been three days since Steve has seen Tony, and, despite himself, he’s starting to get worried.

It’s not unusual for Tony to avoid him after a fight, particularly one as bad as this had been. But three days - even for Tony, that’s stretching it. Normally, by now Steve would have passed by him in the kitchen, at least, or found his dirty laundry in the guest room, but for all appearances it looks like he hasn’t left the workshop. And that - well. The last time Tony stayed in the workshop for three days was after the original Winter Soldier debacle, when Steve ended up in the Potomac. Needless to say, it doesn’t bode well.

Still, there’s not much he can do about it. If he’s learned anything after all his years with Tony, it’s that he shouldn’t push him, not when he’s furious like this. So on the morning of day four, when Steve wakes to a bed as empty and cold as ever, he just sighs. “What’s the weather, Jarvis?” he asks as he climbs out of bed.

“Forty-two degrees and windy, sir,” Jarvis says promptly. “It is also raining. Are you planning to go for a morning jog?”

Steve debates for only a split second before shaking his head. “Nah, I think I’ll save myself from freezing to death today. Start the shower?”

“Certainly, sir,” Jarvis says smoothly, so by the time Steve gets into the bathroom it’s already starting to steam up. He takes his time cleaning up, just enjoying the hot water beating against the sore muscles of his back, warming his slightly-chilled skin.

Eventually, though, he has to get out, and it’s reluctantly that he rinses the last of the soap off his chin and shrugs a towel around his waist. Luckily, Jarvis has warmed up the room, and the heated floorboards keep Steve’s toes nice and toasty as he pads towards the closet.

He just means to grab some comfortable clothes to change into, nothing else, but he can’t help but stop in front of the full-length mirror Tony’s positioned on his side of the closet. The bruise on Steve’s chest - it’s incredible, deep blue and purple like a particularly potent water color. Even after all these days, and in spite of Steve’s enhanced healing, it hasn’t faded. Steve prods carefully at the edges of it, registering the small twinge. Maybe he did get hit harder than he thought.

He forces himself to brush the thought away, and is just turning to grab some sweatpants when he sees him. Hovering behind his shoulder, in the doorway to their room, is Tony. He’s not frowning, but he’s certainly not smiling, either; he looks grey.

“Hey, Tony,” Steve says carefully. “Sorry, am I in your way?”

Tony doesn’t say anything, just continues to stare at him with that horrible, flat look on his face. He looks like a mannequin.

“Tony?” Steve tries again, after a minute. “Are you okay?”

Tony shakes his head, slow. “In your old suit, you’d be dead,” he says, voice oddly flat. “You know that? If I’d taken a day longer to upgrade that, you’d be a body in a casket right now.”

Steve didn’t know that, and it’s jarring, but it doesn’t matter. “I’m fine,” he says. “Look at me, I’m okay.”

“I am looking at you,” Tony says roughly, and it’s harsh but there’s a note of wetness in there, too. Steve takes a cautious step forward, then, when Tony doesn’t flinch away, another.

“I’m fine,” Steve says again. “I’ve got you to protect me, don’t I?”

Tony shakes his head, a sharp jerk. “Not always,” he rasps. “Not this time, I almost -“

“Almost nothing,” Steve says, and finally reaches out to take Tony’s hand in his. Tony breaths in a shaky gasp, fingers settling over Steve’s wrist. His pulse point. “Tony. I’m here. You saved me, just like you always do.”

“But what about next time?” Tony croaks. A tear finally breaks free, running down his cheek. “How am I supposed to - to - what if I had decided to keep that suit another day? What if I decided to add another upgrade, what if I worked on the armor one day instead, what if we went out to dinner and I didn’t finish it and you got - got - got  _killed,_ because I wanted some fucking Chinese food -“

“Breathe,” Steve interrupts, raising a hand to cup Tony’s now-damp cheek. “Look at me. Breathe.”

Tony’s eyes meet his, wide and scared. “Steve -“ he chokes.

“Breathe,” Steve says again. This time, when Steve breathes in, slow and deep enough that his bruised lungs ache, Tony breaths with him in a shaking little gasp. “There you go,” Steve says encouragingly, as Tony shudders out another breath. “Perfect, honey.”

It takes a few minutes, but eventually Tony’s breaths slow and quiet, and his heartbeat slows from its rabbit pace. Steve brushes his thumb over Tony’s cheek and waits for him to speak.

“I can’t lose you,” Tony says finally. He’s looking down at his feet, not at Steve. “I can’t - I can’t do this without you, Steve.”

“Yes, you can,” Steve says. Tony flinches, and Steve tips his jaw up to look him in the eye. “You don’t want to. I don’t want you to have to. But you could, if you needed to.”

Tony says nothing.

“But you don’t have to,” Steve continues. “I’m not going anywhere, Tony. I am here, and safe, and with you. Look at me. Stop dwelling on the past, it won’t do anything for you.”

Tony smiles, a little thing. “I don’t know about that,” he says. “It gave me you.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but now he’s smiling, too. “Was that your way of calling me old?”

Tony tilts his head. “Maybe.” But his grin is growing.

Steve just shakes his head. “I love you,” he reminds Tony, and ducks in to give Tony a quick kiss. Tony catches him by the nape of his neck and pulls him closer, licks into his warm mouth.

“I love you,” Tony says, when they finally break apart. He rests their foreheads together, brings one hand up to splay over Steve’s chest, right where Steve was hit. His touch is so light Steve can barely feel it. “Please be more careful. For me.”

Steve considers debating it for a split second before he dismisses the idea. This is the least he could do for Tony. “I will,” he promises.

Tony takes a shaky breath in, a shaky breath out. “You’re okay,” he says, more to himself than Steve.

Still, Steve lays his hand over Tony’s on his chest. “I’m okay,” he agrees. They stand there a while in the quiet, Tony feeling Steve’s heart in his chest, Steve feeling Tony’s.


	115. First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepper’s funeral is a relatively sedate affair, as quiet and regal as Steve expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> minor character death, established relationship
> 
> originally written for fandom stocking

Pepper’s funeral is a relatively sedate affair, as quiet and regal as Steve expected. It’s at a cathedral, one Pepper’s family had favored, with soaring stain-glass ceilings and burnished gold chandeliers. Dozens of colleagues and friends fill the expansive space, as well as, of course, the Potts-Hogan family, who occupy the first several pews.

Steve and Tony find their place in the first row, reserved beside Happy. Happy offers them a watery smile when they arrive and, wordlessly, Tony tugs Happy up into a hug. “We’re here,” Steve hears him murmur, so quiet even his superhearing can barely make it out. Not I’m sorry, or it’s such a tragedy, nothing that would require Happy to formulate a response. Just - support.

Tony deserves support too, so when they take a seat Steve makes sure to reach over and squeeze Tony’s hand. Tony links his fingers through Steve’s and grips back just as hard.

The ceremony is beautiful. Flowers drape over every surface in the church, shaping it into a sort of wet greenhouse, not unlike what Steve had imagined Paradise to be as a child. A priest speaks first - Happy’s priest, Steve thinks, because he doesn’t think Pepper was religious, but she always went on Sundays to accompany her family - and then a few more people go up to speak. Her daughter reads her eulogy, and her son, a heart-wrenching poem that has Steve choking back tears. Finally Happy rises to the podium.

“My wife,” he starts, and then already has to stop and clear his throat of tears. “My wife was an amazing woman. She was - words can’t describe, how incredible she was. Or, at least, I don’t know the words that will.”

Happy stutters and stammers his way through his speech, constantly interrupted by his own tears and choking sobs. Steve’s heart aches for him. He can’t imagine the pain Happy is going through right now - or, rather, he probably could imagine it, but would give anything to not have to. If something happened to Tony, if Tony weren’t here - Steve can’t even fathom what he’d do. Steve isn’t Steve without Tony; he’s loved him so long, been his husband so long, been his partner so long that Steve doesn’t even know what it is to live alone. He doesn’t remember what life is any more without Tony’s smile and silver eyes and rough, mirthful laugh. He doesn’t want to remember.

Steve glances over at Tony now to find Tony blinking at him, eyes wet. Steve wonders if Tony is thinking the exact same thing as Steve right now. “Steve,” he whispers, and Steve leans over to tuck Tony against his side. Tony rests his head on Steve’s shoulder, and Steve presses a kiss to Tony’s hair, taking time to pause and breathe in the reassuring smell of metal and oil and Tony’s shampoo. Then he forces his eyes forward, watching Happy finish choking his way through his heartbroken speech.

 _God_ , Steve prays silently. If his prayers will be heard anywhere, at any time, he hopes it will be here, in this cathedral.  _God, please, don’t ever let that happen to me. Let me go first._


	116. Trolley Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony have some philosophical disagreements.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship
> 
> originally posted for fandom stocking
> 
> for background info: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trolley_problem

“You’re being ridiculous,” Steve says flatly.

Tony raises his eyebrows. “Yeah? Then you tell me the difference. Why is it so wrong to operate on the guy if it’s okay to flip the switch?”

Steve huffs. He doesn’t know why they even got into this conversation in the first place - Steve had just mentioned the word trolley and Tony had said, “Oh, that reminds me,” - but now that they’re here, he can’t let it go. They’re thirty minutes in to the most frustrating argument of all time and there’s no end in sight. Damn Tony’s stupid genius brain. “Because it’s - it’s a matter of rights! You don’t have the right to take someone’s organs!”

“No?” Tony asks. “But you have a right to run a guy over with a train?”

Steve splutters. This is almost as infuriating as HYDRA soldiers, except this, he can’t punch in the face. He fumbles for an answer. “Well - you’re not really running him over, are you?”

“That’s a weak argument and we both know it,” Tony says.

Steve changes tactic. “It’s - no. The guy on the track has no more right not to be hit by the train than the five guys on the other track. That’s it, that’s the difference. A patient has more rights to his own damn organs.”

“Okay,” Tony says.

Steve waits for the next argument but none is forthcoming. “Okay?” he asks finally, when Tony doesn’t say anything else. “That’s it? All this and that’s - it?”

Tony shrugs. “Your argument is cohesive. It’s a valid stance.”

“You - you little shit,” Steve says, almost wonderingly. “What was the point of this, then?”

Tony’s confident smile curls into something a little more mirthful. “I wanted to hear your thoughts on it. Plus, I like to see that vein in your temple jump.”

Steve shakes his head. “You -“

He decides actions speak louder than words and, rather than continuing, pounces across the living room couch to plaster his weight on Tony. Tony’s already laughing as Steve braces himself above him, forehead to forehead. “You’re going to pay for that,” Steve warns.

Tony just grins. “I look forward to it.”

Steve pulls him down onto the floor.


	117. Teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets a cavity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> established relationship, fluff
> 
> originally written for fandom stocking

“I’m fine,” Steve insists, for the third time in as many minutes. “Seriously, Tony. You’re overreacting.”

Tony raises an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. “You can’t eat anything but yogurt because solids hurt too much.”

“I can eat more than yogurt,” Steve mumbles, looking down at his hands. Just because he’s eating yogurt right now doesn’t mean he can’t eat anything else. Even if he really wants some of the bacon Tony just cooked. “I can eat oatmeal. And soft bananas. And broth.”

“Wow,” Tony says dryly. “You’re right. That’s totally normal.”

Steve huffs. He can admit it to himself in the privacy of his own head: he hates the dentist. No anesthetic is strong enough to numb his mouth, so getting a filling or root canal always hurt like a bitch. That, combined with Steve’s increased sensitivity after the serum and the horrible, nails-on-chalkboard sound of a metal pick scraping at Steve’s teeth, make the dentist possibly his least favorite place in the world, other than sitting vigil at the side of Tony’s hospital bed.

“I just - look, isn’t there some way Bruce could just, like, yank the tooth out? That’d hurt less than a filling, I bet.”

Tony hums. “Maybe,” he agrees. For a split second, Steve brightens before Tony continues, “If you want a weird, mushy hole in your mouth for the rest of your life. That’s not attractive for kissing, you know. I don’t want to kiss someone with a weird, mushy hole in their mouth.”

“Not even your husband?” Steve tries.

“No,” Tony says firmly. “Not even my husband.”

Steve sighs. Appealing to Tony’s sappy romance side is usually his foolproof last-resort technique - if that didn’t work, he’s really screwed. “I hate the dentist.”

Tony sighs too, closing the space between them to settle his hands on Steve’s shoulders. Steve looks up to meet Tony’s gaze. “I know you do,” he says. “Look. How about this. You go to the dentist, and afterwards, we can do whatever you want. All afternoon.”

“You would do that anyway,” Steve says ruefully.

Tony shrugs. “Maybe before. Not now, though. No more sexy times until you get that filling, new rule.”

Steve frowns but he has to admit: it’s a pretty good incentive. “Will you come with me?” he still asks, even though it makes him feel like a little kid.

Tony visibly softens. “Of course I’m coming with you, honey,” he assures Steve. “Didn’t realize I had to say that.”

“Okay, then,” Steve finally agrees. “I’ll make an appointment.”

“Good,” Tony says, brushing a thumb over Steve’s jaw. “Thank you.”

“Excuse me, sirs,” Jarvis interrupts. “Sorry to bother, but I’ve contacted your oral surgeon and he is available to see Captain Rogers as early as this afternoon.” Steve gulps.

“Don’t think about the dentist,” Tony says, seeing Steve’s expression. “Think about tonight. What are we going to do?”

Steve pretends to ponder it. “Well, I’m just spitballing here, but I was thinking: sex.”

Tony laughs, loud and bright. “Pretty sure I can work with that.”

Steve grins. “Good.”

Tony leans in to kiss him, then, but their lips only barely touch before a sharp pain shoots through Steve’s jaw and he’s forced to pull back. Tony is looking at him knowingly. “Dentist?” he asks.

“Dentist,” Steve agrees, and gets up to find his shoes.


	118. Burn You, Burn Me, Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve can’t stop seeing it.
> 
> Every time he catches a glimpse at one of the scabs on Tony’s forearms, he remembers it: the torture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hurt/comfort, established relationship, references to past torture
> 
> originally written for fandom stocking

Steve can’t stop seeing it.

Every time he catches a glimpse at one of the scabs on Tony’s forearms, he remembers it: the torture. The way Tony had looked on the grainy video footage, wincing and straining against his bond as his captors burned spots up and down his forearms. The burns were small, the size of a penny, but they had taken so long to form, and Tony had screamed, grey smoke curling away from his blackened skin as he gagged at the smell of his own flesh burning -

“Steve?” Tony asks now, jerking Steve back to the present. Steve takes a deep breath and turns away from Tony’s too-knowing gaze, pulling a mug out of the cupboard. His hands are shaking, he realizes. He tries to still them.

“Hey,” Tony says, but Steve still doesn’t turn. Coffee. Tony had pouted that he needed his caffeine fix, and Steve had kissed him, said he’d get him a mug. Then Tony reached up to brush a greasy strand of hair off his forehead and his sleeve had slipped, revealing the long lines of still-pink scars. “Hey,” Tony says, again, from closer this time, which is the only reason Steve doesn’t startle when Tony lays a gentle hand on his back. “Sweetheart. You with me?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, turning around. He forces a smile. “You need something else?”

But Tony is frowning, brow pinched. Steve wants to smooth the wrinkles away with his thumb. “I need you to tell me what’s wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Steve tries. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s all good.”

Tony’s frown just deepens. “Don’t lie to me,” he says quietly.

It’s mundane, but he’s right. Lying wasn’t part of their wedding vows. Steve sighs. “You’re right,” he admits. “I’m sorry.”

Tony cups Steve’s cheek in his hand. Steve turns his head to press a kiss to his palm, raising his own hand to cover it. “What is it?”

“It’s just -“ Steve looks down at the floor, unable to meet Tony’s eyes. “Your scars. Every time I see them, I just -“ He cuts himself off.

“Oh, honey,” Tony murmurs. “When are you going to stop blaming yourself for things that aren’t your fault?”

Steve shakes his head.

“Honey,” Tony says again. “Look at me. hey. Look at me.”

Steve forces his gaze up to meet Tony’s own.

“I’m fine,” Tony says gently. “Remember? I’m just fine and I’m right here with you.”

“I know,” Steve says, “I know, I do, I just -“

“Do you?” Tony presses. “Because the pain - that’s all in the past, Steve. We’ve both experienced a lot of pain. But we made it past that, didn’t we? And now we’re here. And here, everyone’s okay.” Tony pauses. “We’re okay, aren’t we, Steve?”

Steve only hesitates a moment before nodding. “Yeah,” he agrees, and feels horribly guilty for the way Tony relaxes against him. “Yeah, we’re okay.”

“Good,” Tony murmurs, leaning in to press a soft, soft kiss to Steve’s cheek. It makes Steve ache. What would he do if he lost this? What if Tony wasn’t here any more: with his loud mouth and bright eyes and soft wrists? “Here, I can get my own coffee.”

“No,” Steve says, pulling the mug back out of Tony’s reach. “No, I’m getting it for you. Go sit down.”

“Steve -“ Tony starts, but Steve just pulls up his best Captain America frown.

“Sit down,” he says again, and Tony rolls his eyes but obliges.

Steve turns to find the coffee, already brewed and waiting. “Thanks, JARVIS,” he says. Tony can be very particular about coffee when he wants to be, so Steve focuses on measuring out the exact amount of sugar that Tony favors, stirring it in until it’s perfectly dissolved. He may not be able to protect Tony all the time, but at least he can do this.

“Thanks,” Tony says, when Steve delivers his drink. He takes a sip and his face lights up in a pleased little smile. “It’s perfect.”

Steve leans down to press a kiss to his temple. “Good,” he says. Tony deserves it.


	119. Haunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’ve been in the new house for almost six weeks by the time Tony pulls Steve aside and tells him he thinks it’s haunted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> established relationship
> 
> originally written for fandom stocking

They’ve been in the new house for almost six weeks by the time Tony pulls Steve aside and tells him he thinks it’s haunted.

“I know his is going to sound weird,” he says to start, biting his lip like he’s nervous, and Steve is immediately concerned. They’ve been married for almost thirty years, now, and over that time the number of situations that make Tony nervous around Steve have dwindled. By now, they’re down to Tony admitting he’s afraid to deal with rats and the sharing of some horrible news and, oh, god, that’s what this is, isn’t it? Tony is sick, or one of their friends is dying, or someone is about to try to take over the world again and kill half of everyone in it.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks first. “Is everyone okay?”

“For now,” Tony says, and that just makes Steve’s stomach twist more. “Look, it’s not what you - look. I know I’m going to sound crazy but I need you to believe me. There’s something wrong with this house.”

A bit of Steve’s fear softens into confusion. “This house? What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Tony sighs. “I mean, I think it’s haunted, Steve. I’ve - there are so many weird things, things that just keep happening and I can’t remember the last time I was afraid like this and I just -“ Tony shakes his head, gaze averted away from Steve and towards the floor. He looks so afraid, Steve realizes, so genuinely afraid, an expression Steve scarcely remembers ever seeing on his face. “I’m telling you, Steve, there is something wrong, here. Please believe me. Please say you believe me.” He looks up at Steve, eyes wide and pleading.

“Of course I believe you,” Steve assures him. He steps forward, running his hands over Tony’s shoulders, and Tony relaxes into the touch, tension leaving him in a shudder. “Of course I believe you, Tony. If you say something’s wrong, something’s wrong.”

Tony closes his eyes. “I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts.”

“I don’t,” Steve says, and Tony stiffens a little under his touch. Steve hastens to add, “But that doesn’t mean you didn’t see something. I just don’t think it was a ghost.”

“Yeah? What was it, then?”

Steve shrugs. “Maybe it’s carbon monoxide poisoning. You know that has the same symptoms as a haunting.”

“You’ve been fine, though,” Tony says skeptically.

“I also have a very enhanced metabolism,” Steve points out. “If I can’t get drunk, I probably also can’t get poisoned by the same stuff you can. Not to mention other causes - magic, maybe. Even if we’re retired, Loki’s still as much a dick as he ever was.”

Tony laughs a bit weakly. “Man, this was not the conversation I was expecting to have with you.”

“What were you expecting?”

Tony shrugs, finally bringing his own hands up to cup Steve’s waist. “Try to convince you I haven’t lost it, really.”

“That’ll never happen,” Steve says confidently. “You don’t have any sanity to lose in the first place.”

For a split second, Tony’s face is blank, like he can’t understand what he’s hearing, before he’s squawking and smacking Steve on the chest. “Asshole!”

Steve laughs, pulling Tony closer, and despite his grumbling Tony goes easily. “Let’s go to the Compound tonight,” Steve suggests. “I can get some equipment, come back out here tomorrow, see if there’s anything Earthly going on. And if not, we can talk to Thor.”

“I’m coming with you,” Tony says. “I mean, I get that it’s, like, probably not ghosts, but-“

“Of course,” Steve interrupts. “You don’t have to explain yourself. But maybe you can wear the suit? For the filters.”

“Always the man with a plan,” Tony agrees, and Steve huffs but leans down to kiss him.

“Call the Quinjet,” he says when he pulls away. “Let’s go home.”

Tony smiles.


	120. Melt Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Tony had a sleep paralysis episode after he and Steve started dating, Steve had no idea what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> established relationship, hurt/comfort, inspired by the haunting of hill house
> 
> originally written for fandom stocking

The first time Tony had a sleep paralysis episode after he and Steve started dating, Steve had no idea what to do.

Tony was so accustomed to them he hadn’t even thought to warn Steve that it might happen. Besides, they were rare now, only once or twice a year. He’d experienced them on and off since childhood - moments, after he’d woken, where his whole body was frozen and he couldn’t move, or scream, or even whisper. They only lasted a couple of minutes, but often it felt like hours, especially when they were accompanied by ghostly apparitions. When Tony was a child, it was usually an old woman, her face haggard, hair limp and grey, growling at him. Now, though, more often it’s Obadiah: smirking down at Tony, his hands dripping red, as Tony screams and screams in his own mind.

So when the first one happened with Steve around, Steve hadn’t been able to help much. Tony had laid there in bed, still as a stone, staring up at Obadiah’s twisted face, and Steve had simply sat next to him and waited for the episode to ease. Afterward, he said he thought Tony was having a nightmare, and Tony explained it wasn’t quite that, no. He gave Steve the history, the spiel of what to do to help, just in case it happened again, but for months, there was nothing. The episodes most often happened with Tony felt unsafe, and, as cheesy as he felt saying it, Tony felt safer around Steve. He didn’t need to be afraid.

But then, one day, eight months into their relationship, Tony startles awake in the middle of the night. At first he doesn’t know what has woken him, and he moves to sit up, check out the room. Instead, though, he finds himself paralyzed: unable to move his feet, hands, neck - nothing. He tries not to panic. A few minutes, he reminds himself. It’ll only be a few minutes, and then he’ll be back to normal.

But, tonight is one of the bad nights, because just as Tony is thinking that this could get worse, it does. He appears - Obadiah, with those gleaming eyes, that metal claw.  _Tony, Tony, Tony,_  he tuts, and Tony can smell him, the always-sharp burn of his cologne, as he leans closer, close enough that Tony can count the individual hairs of his beard.  _Tony_ , he says again,  _did you really think I cared?_

“Sweetheart?” someone says, and it’s so disconcerting that, for a moment, Tony thinks it’s come from Obadiah’s mouth. It hasn’t, though; Obadiah is dark and grey and this voice, despite everything, is light. “Sweetheart,” the voice says again, and someone settles their hand on Tony’s shoulder. It’s big and warm and rough, grounding. Steve, Tony thinks. “Hey, it’s okay. Breathe with me, okay?”

Only then does Tony realize that he’s gasping, jagged little breaths in and out of his nose. “Breathe with me,” Steve says, and Tony wants to, he does, but Obadiah is right above him, ready to rip the arc reactor out of his chest, and Tony can’t make his heart calm.

“It’s just a dream,” Steve says firmly, “I’m right here with you, Tony. Jarvis, bright up the lights.”

Slowly, the room begins to brighten, but Obadiah still hovers right behind Steve’s shoulder, like a stubborn ghost.  _Tony_ , he says again,  _Oh, my boy._

“Tony, come on, try to breathe with me. In and out, easy, sweetheart.”

Tony tries to focus on Steve’s voice. In, out. In, out. His breaths are still jagged, but less so than before, and gradually, he feels the locked-up feeling in his limbs start to ease.

“That’s it,” Steve says. His eyes are warm and sleep-crinkled. “Just like that, sweetheart.”

Finally, Tony’s body releases him, and he sags, eyes blinking closed automatically. When he opens them again, Obadiah is gone: there is just Steve, warm and very real.

“Hey,” Steve says. “That was good, that was great, honey -“

Tony startles forward, tucking himself into Steve’s shoulder. He can’t remember the last time he slipped out of sleep paralysis so easily, can’t remember the last time he was this calm afterwards.

“I love you,” Tony tells Steve’s shoulder, surprised to hear the thickness of his own voice. He’s on the verge of tears.

“Tony,” Steve murmurs, wrapping his arms around Tony’s waist and squeezing tight. “I love you, too. I got you.”

Tony breathes.


	121. Brains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Look,” Steve tries, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
> 
> “Arrrgh,” the zombie says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> zombie au, meet-cute
> 
> originally written for fandom stocking

“Look,” Steve tries, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Arrrgh,” the zombie says, dragging herself another few inches forward on the pavement. Her entrails smear behind her, turning the pavement a sick black-red. A few feet away, the bottom half of her body lays, finally permanently dead, having been severed by Steve a few moments previously with a battle-axe stolen from the local comic book store.

Now, he hoists the axe in the air again, much as he wishes he didn’t have to. “If you keep trying to eat me, I will kill you,” he informs the zombie.

She just bares her teeth. She looks like she was a nice lady, Steve thinks sadly. She’s got a suburban mom vibe going for her - long, blow-dried hair, a plain cotton shirt, and a now-bloody chain decorated with birthstones swinging from her neck. Steve wonders where her kids are now.

“Please,” he tries, one last time. “If you can understand me at all, just don’t -“

He’s interrupted by the sound of a gunshot right behind him, and, startled, he all but leaps into the air. When he comes back down, he lands on the zombie’s hand, and she yowls. That sound, too, is cut off by a gunshot when her brains go splattered all over the pavement.

“Were you ever gonna shoot her?” someone asks, and Steve turns to find possibly the hottest guy he’s ever seen standing behind him holding a shotgun, clearly having just killed the zombies. Or, well, maybe not the hottest guy Steve’s ever seen, but at least the hottest one since he had to shoot Ryan Gosling last week. (God rest his zombified soul).

“I was giving her a chance to stop,” Steve protests automatically. “They might not be mindless, we don’t know.”

The man raises an eyebrow at him. Despite the fact that the apocalypse has been raging for well over a month now, he looks pristine: goatee on point, forehead sweat-free, eyelashes so long Steve could swear he was wearing mascara. They draw attention to his eyes, which are a warm, honeyed brown, and yeah, okay, Steve might be having some feelings right now.

“They’re trying to eat us,” the man says dryly. “What, you think they’re still human in there?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says. “Probably not, but it feels wrong to just shoot without giving them a chance to stop.”

The man just stares at him. Steve feels hot under his gaze. “Wow,” he says finally, “You really are something, aren’t you?” He offers his free hand to Steve. “I’m Tony. What’s your name, handsome?”

Steve blushes a little deeper, but still shakes out to reach Tony’s hand. “Steve,” he says.

“Nice to meet you, Steve,” Tony says, hoisting his gun over his shoulder. “I’m on my way out of the city. Supposed to be less zombies in the rural zones. Interested in tagging along?”

Steve smiles for what might be the first time since he watched a zombie Natasha chew Bucky’s arm off while he slept. “I thought you’d never ask.”


	122. Know Who You're Marrying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve had proposed, and for a moment, Tony had thought this was it: they would be happy. Of course, he should have known it wouldn’t be that simple. It was never that simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hurt/comfort, misunderstandings, established relationship, insecurities

When Steve had proposed, Tony had burst out crying.

He’d sworn Steve to secrecy, of course, and Steve, lovely man that he was, had never teased Tony about it, or even really brought it up after that night. Tony just couldn’t help it. It was so - overwhelming, this realization that not only did he get to have Steve now, he got to have him for the rest of his life. I get to love him forever, Tony had thought, and the tears had spilled over of their own accord as Tony had tugged Steve to feet with shaking hands to kiss him.

Of course, Tony should have known it wouldn’t be that simple. It was never that simple.

Now, Tony sits on his bed and tries to breathe. In, out, in, out. He counts to ten, counts his fingers, rubs his palm around the cold rim of the arc reactor, but nothing can calm his thrumming heart. He should have known he would fuck this up. He always did.

“Tony?” someone asks from the doorway, and Tony hastily brings up a hand to swipe at the tears on his cheeks. “Hey, Tones, what’s wrong?”

Tony shakes his head, turning away from Rhodey as he comes to sit on the bed next to Tony. JARVIS must have told him he was upset. Tony can’t even find it in himself to be mad. “I fucked up,” he rasps.

“What do you mean?” Rhodey lays a hand on Tony’s back, and despite himself, Tony leans into it. “Come on, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad. What happened?”

Tony laughs, a weak, humorless thing. “Steve and I just had a screaming match in the other room. A bad one.”

Rhodey pauses. “That’s not - ideal, but it couldn’t have been that bad -“

“He said he couldn’t stand to look at me,” Tony interrupts. Rhodey goes quiet. “So, you know. Pretty sure the wedding’s off.”

What timing, too: three days before the wedding, far too late for anything to be cancelled or postponed, no way for Tony to save face. Steve was going to break up with Tony, and the whole world would know it, not that they hadn’t already been aware before. Tony wasn’t good enough for Captain America, and he’d just been fooling himself these last few months, pretending otherwise.

“Did he say the wedding was off?” Rhodey asks carefully.

“Well - no, not in so many words, but that doesn’t mean -“

“Have you had fights like this before?” Rhodey presses. “Fights this bad?”

“Well - yes,” Tony admits, because they’re Steve and Tony, they disagree on almost as many things as they agree on. “But this is different. This is - the timing.”

“The timing doesn’t mean anything, Tony,” Rhodey says. “I mean, sure, you could have picked a better time to fight, but you’ve had bad arguments with him before, and he still wanted to marry you. What makes this one any different?”

Tony opens his mouth to argue and - closes it again. Thinks. What really does make this one any different? It’s not like the topic was anything novel - the usual argument about appropriate risks and prioritizing others’ lives over your own, yada yada yada, the same fight they have, it feels, after every particularly dangerous mission. It wasn’t especially more vicious than the usual fights either, because the fights were always vicious. The only difference was the timing.

Tony lets a little spark of hope crawl into his chest. Maybe this is fixable. Maybe - maybe Steve doesn’t want to break up with him, just postpone the wedding, maybe. Maybe if Tony says he’s sorry, says he’ll stop taking risks, Steve will believe him. Maybe they can get married anyway.

Tony jumps off the bed with sudden nervous energy. “I have to go find Steve,” he says, and disappears before he can hear whatever Rhodey has to say about that. (It’s probably just I told you so, which, yeah, Rhodey is wise and Tony is an idiot, that’s a conversation they’ve had a thousand times since college. They don’t need to replay it today.)

“Jarvis,” Tony says, as soon as he’s out of Rhodey’s earshot, “Where’s -“

“The workshop, sir,” Jarvis says immediately. Tony’s chest pangs, and the hope swells a little further. Maybe Steve was looking for him, maybe he wanted to talk about this, maybe -

Tony is a ball of nerves by the time he makes it downstairs. Jarvis clicks the door open for him without waiting for his access code, and Tony waves a hand at the nearest camera in thanks, darting inside to find -

Steve. He’s sitting at his usual stool, sketching something in one of his many notebooks. He looks up when he sees Tony come in, and the tired lines on his face dissolve into something a little closer to a smile.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft.

“Hey,” Tony says. He comes to a stop a couple of feet away from Steve, not sure whether he’s welcome to come closer. “I, uh - I wanted to say sorry.”

Steve’s smile twists. “No, you didn’t,” he corrects. “You wanted to make everything okay, but you haven’t changed your mind.”

“I -“ He’s right, so much as he wishes he could, Tony can’t contradict him. “I am sorry, though,” Tony tries. “That we fought.”

“Yeah, me too.” Steve sighs and holds out his arms. “Come here.”

Tony closes the gap between them gratefully, letting Steve wrap him up in his warm, strong arms. “I’m sorry, too,” Steve says. “I hate fighting with you.”

“Well,” Tony says, trying for levity. “You might want to rethink your choices then, because there’s a lot of that coming up in your future.” Instead of joking, it comes out as pained and sincere. Steve tightens his grip.

“Yeah,” he says. “Well. I knew that when I proposed to you, didn’t I?” The last tight knot in Tony’s chest starts to relax.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “You did.”


	123. The Edge of Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony getting up to a little hanky panky before the true fervor of Tony's heat sets in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ABO, NSFW, fluff, established relationship, heats

Steve,” Tony gasps, a little, broken sound that’s lost in the sheets. “Steve, you - fuck.”

“Shh,” Steve murmurs, continuing his path down Tony’s back. His neck, his shoulders, the line of his spine; all of it smells like Tony and sweat and that spicy, blood-singing smell of heat.  _Mine_ , Steve thinks, tasting Tony thick on his tongue, in his nose.  _All mine._

“You are -“ Tony’s voice breaks off as Steve’s thumb brushes a little bit closer to his groin. “You - are -  _horrible_.”

“Really?” Steve murmurs, pressing a kiss to Tony’s ribs. “I don’t think so.”

“You are,” Tony says, “You really, really, are - oh, fuck, can you just get the lube and get on with it?”

Steve laughs, but finally eases back enough so Tony can flip under him, so they’re facing. Tony is scowling, a little dimple between his eyebrows displaying his displeasure. It’s adorable. “You’re so bossy.”

“Well, yeah, it’s me. Hurry up, I’ve got like an hour before I go completely crazy for your dick and I’d like to enjoy this while I can.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but slides off of Tony to search for the lube in the nightstand drawer. He finds it quickly enough, but still, by the time he climbs back into bed and presses back up against Tony, Tony’s shaking a bit.

“You’re further in than I thought,” Steve says, and Tony hums, stroking a hand up Steve’s side.

“An hour might have been an optimistic estimate,” Tony admits. He always gets like this, before and during his heats: this endless, insatiable need for touch, not even necessarily sexually, just proximity. It’s not common, but also not unheard of, considering everyone’s heats manifest differently. Still, Steve finds it refreshing. He would accompany Tony through his heats no matter what they were like, of course he would, but any alpha could tell you that sometimes, towards the ends, things can get exhausting, super-soldier stamina or not. Now, at least, Steve never has to worry about not being able to give Tony what he needs, because Tony is so easy to satisfy.

“I better make this quick, then,” Steve says, slicking up his fingers. “How do you want it?”

“Just like this,” Tony says, shifting over Steve to straddle him. “This is good.”

“Whatever you want,” Steve says, and nudges at Tony’s entrance with a single finger.

He’s tight, just like he always is - tension in his whole body, he carries so much of it, and no matter what Steve tries he can never really get him to relax - so Steve moves slowly. Just one finger at first, for a good while, and then when Tony starts to clench around him, impatient, a second. A few more minutes. A third.

“God,” Tony groans finally. He’s shining with sweat, already breathing a bit harder than usual. His cock is hard against his stomach, leaking, a dark purple-red. “God, I’m ready, just fuck me already.”

There was a time when Steve would have asked if he was sure, but after this many years together, he’s learned to trust Tony. He pulls his fingers out, and a moment later, replaces them with his cock.

“Oh, fuck,” Tony says, sinking down on him. “Shit, that’s good.”

“Tony,” Steve says, unable to stop his hips from nudging up a bit. Tony is so still above him, but he feels so good, wet and hot, velvet, and he needs Tony to move.

“Right,” Tony says, seemingly waking up from his stupor, “Right, here, just -“ And he starts riding Steve in earnest.

Sex with Tony is always amazing. When they’re tired, when they’re bloody and bruised, when they’re in a slippery shower stall and can barely move for fear of falling. But there’s something especially exhilarating about sex before Tony’s heat, when the aphrodisiac hormones have started to set in, but before they take over entirely. It brings everything up to another level, every touch softer, every breath harder, everything brighter. Tony feels like he’s thrumming above Steve, thrumming around him, and it’s all Steve can do to hold his strength back, try to slow himself down.

“Steve,” Tony groans. He’s found his rhythm, and is riding it to its finale. Steve slides his hands up Tony’s sides, down his back, around his hips, a constant, irrepressible urge. He wants to take, he wants to touch, he wants -

“Steve,” Tony moans again, and bends almost in half to press his lips against Steve’s. It’s not a kiss, not really, more like jagged breathing into each other’s mouths, but Tony snaps his hips one more time and then, with a jagged gasp, he’s coming. Steve feels Tony’s breath stutter against his mouth, feels Tony clench around him, and falls right after him.

For a long moment afterwards, neither of them moves. Steve is content to just hold Tony in his arms, as awkward a position as it must be, feeling Tony’s heartbeat against his belly. Eventually, though, Tony groans and pulls away, and Steve lets him, watching as he sprawls on the sheets beside Steve. He doesn’t stop touching him, keeping his elbow pressed against Steve’s hip, one leg tossed over Steve’s. He rests his head against Steve’s shoulder.

“I want pancakes,” he says finally, and Steve huffs out a laugh, bringing up one hand to knot in Tony’s hair.

“Think we have time?” he asks.

Tony seems to consider for a moment. “No,” he says. “But, hey, might as well live on the edge.”

Steve laughs for real this time, and heaves himself up off the sheets before he can second guess himself. “Come on,” he says. He holds out his hands for Tony to take.


	124. Catnip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets turned in a baby panther. Or that's what the Avengers think happened, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> commission for acachette
> 
> fluff, established relationship, magic shenanigans

The sad thing is, it isn’t even really that strange of an occurrence.

You’d think a fully-grown, human superhero being turned into a baby animal would be strange. But, honestly, given the number of times Loki has decided to pull a prank on them and some part of his twisted mind had gone, oh, yeah, infant livestock - that outta do it - well, they had something of a procedure in order.

So this time, when Widow came onto the comms and said, “Uh, Cap, we got a fuzzy little problem, here,” Steve is proud to say he didn’t panic.

“Who is it this time, Widow?” he sighs.

“Your one and only,” she says. “And this time I think he’s a leopard.”

Which is unusual - usually Thor is a baby lion, Steve a yappy young Corgi, and Tony a little kitten. But kittens and leopards are in the same family, Steve reasons, so maybe it’s just a glitch in the spell.

“Take him back to the Tower,” Steve tells her. “Thor just got Loki in a headlock so I’m sure this’ll be over soon, and the rest of us can handle cleanup.”

“Babysitting duty,” Natasha grumbles over the comms. “Yay.”

Steve ignores her in favor of turning towards one of Loki’s last remaining lackeys - there had been dozens of them just a moment ago, but like their master, they seem to scatter at the first sign of trouble - and hitting them hard in the chest. It’s not that he doesn’t  _like_ it when Tony is turned into a baby animal, because it’s adorable, really. It’s just that Steve hasn’t been home in, like, a month, and he was really hoping tonight would be the night he could finally end his unfortunately celibacy streak and get into Tony’s pants.

Wishful thinking, it seems, because now the only thing that would be in Tony’s pants were fuzzy little paws.

Steve’s sexual frustration, at least, acts as a good motivator, and quickly enough, they’ve got the last of the minions rounded up and Loki locked up behind Thor. The day is saved, so Steve pats Thor on the back, tells him to call if he needs anything, and sets out at a jog back towards the Tower.

When he gets home, Jarvis directs him to the communal floor, where he finds Natasha sitting on the couch, a good half a room’s distance away from where baby-panther Tony is curled under a blanket.

“He wouldn’t let me touch him,” Natasha says at Steve’s confused look. “I don’t know if I pissed him off or he’s just grumpy at being turned again. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

Steve decides his best bet is to be extra careful, so he abandons his shield and gloves on the coffee table and approaches Tony slowly. “Hey, honey,” he says. The little panther’s head pops up from out of its blanket nest and squints at Steve suspiciously. “It’s just me. You just got turned again, as I’m sure you can tell, and Thor’s got Loki so it’s only a matter of time before - ow!”

Because as Steve reaches out to lay a hand on the back of Tony’s neck, so he can scratch behind his ears the way he likes, Tony yowls and strikes out at him with his surprisingly sharp little claws. He rakes his hand all the way up Steve’s arm, leaving a line of sharp red scratches already sluggishly dripping blood.

“What the fuck?” Steve exclaims, pulling his arm back to his chest. Tony just growls at him, showing his tiny teeth, before diving back into the safety of his cocoon.

“Jesus, what has gotten into you?” Steve demands, despite knowing he won’t get an answer. For the first time, he actually worries that maybe something went wrong with the spell - with the change in species plus this newfound aggressive behavior, maybe Loki has, for once, actually created some lasting damage.

“Here,” Natasha says behind him, and when Steve turns he finds her ready with a dishtowel she presses over his wounds. “We should get you patched up.”

“It’ll be healed in a minute,” Steve says ruefully, but takes the cloth to apply pressure himself. He wouldn’t want to get blood on the carpet, after all - Tony has reminded him time and time again how difficult it is to get stains out of Persian wool, and even if this injury is technically Tony’s fault, Steve’s not exactly itching to be on the receiving end of another lecture.

“Maybe we should call Thor,” Natasha says, glancing back down at Tony’s hiding place. “He might be able to get something out of Loki.”

Steve shakes his head. “Knowing Loki, he’d just use it as a chance to mess with us even more. I’m sure it’s fine, he’s just scared or something. We’ll give him a bit of space, and in a few hours he’ll be fine.”

-

Surprisingly enough, Steve is right. He takes a break to shower and order some dinner, and by the time he gets back to the common room, Tony has already shown some bravery and emerged partway from his tent. Steve puts on Star Wars, because he knows it’s Tony’s favorite, and waits. As Episode IV turns into Episode V, the room fills up with the fellow Avengers, and by the time Steve makes it to the end of Episode VI, Tony has fully abandoned his safe zone and has crawled up onto the couch cushion beside Steve to rest his little chin on Steve’s thigh.

By the end of the movie marathon, Steve is all but falling asleep where he sits, and so when the screen goes blue he grabs the remote and flicks it off. “Bedtime,” he tells Tony, who’s peering up at him with those big, deep eyes. “Need a hand?”

He offers his hand out to Tony and, after what seems like a moment’s consideration, Tony slinks over his fingers to settle in his palm. Steve lifts him carefully, cautious not to rock him too much, and carries him to their bedroom where he sets little Tony on his half of the bed.

“I’m just going to go brush my teeth,” he tells Tony. “I’ll be back in a minute, okay?”

He moves quickly despite his sluggishness, but still, by the time he comes back to bed, Tony has conked out, mouth hanging open and tongue lolling as he purrs. Steve smiles despite himself.

“Grab a picture, Jay?” he can’t help but ask. Only when Jarvis says, “Captured, sir,” does Steve actually climb into bed, flopping around a bit to get comfortable on his pillow. Usually, he doesn’t have trouble sleeping after missions, but tonight, for some reason, he feels inexplicably alone, and he doesn’t fall asleep for good long while.

-

The next morning, he’s woken up by a smack to the chest.

“Ouch,” he complains automatically, without opening eyes. Then the last night comes back to him - the battle, Loki’s trick, Tony’s little panther body curled on the bed beside him - and he shoots up. “Tony?”

Sure enough, it’s Tony standing above him, but he looks weirdly exhausted and is covered by dirt on every surface. He’s also glowering. “Steve Rogers,” he says dangerously, and Steve has time to think  _oh shit,_ before Tony continues, “Did you replace me with a  _cat?”_

Steve blinks. “What? You -“

He glances over to the pillow beside him. There, still snoring, is the baby panther.

Steve blinks. He blinks again. “What.”

“You replaced me. With a  _cat.”_ Steve glances back over at Tony who, frankly, looks a little murderous. “I was gone for  _sixteen hours!_ What is wrong with you?”

“You’re not the cat?” Steve asks dumbly.

“No, I’m not the cat!” Tony yells. “I’m  _me, the cat_ is the cat _,_ what were you thinking?”

“I thought you were the cat,” Steve says. “You - Loki, he - wait, if you’re not the cat, what happened to you?”

“I got sent to Sri Lanka!” Tony’s still yelling but honestly, Steve can’t even be mad at him for it. He’s pretty sure he’d be pissed, too, if he got magicked away to Asia and came back to find his husband snuggling up with a wild animal in his absence. Jeez. “I woke up in a fucking  _cage_ at a goddamn  _zoo_ covered in dirt and muck and leopard shit and I had to beg a fucking zookeeper for his cellphone so I could call Jarvis to let you guys know where I was! You could say I was pretty fucking surprised when he said that I was not, in fact, missing, and that I was in  _bed next to you,_ and nobody was searching for me at all!”

“Tony, I’m sorry,” Steve says, finally regaining enough high motor function to push himself up from the bed and reach for Tony’s hand. Tony flinches but lets him take it. “We really thought you were the cat. Loki’s changed us so many times, and it just - it seemed like it made the most sense -“

“We really need to talk about your definition of ‘sense’,” Tony grumbles, but he’s calming down.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again. “If it makes you feel any better, we did think something seemed off, we just thought -“ He trails off.

“What?”

“We thought you were grumpy,” Steve admits. “We all know you don’t like getting turned into animals -“

“Yeah, well, I like getting sent halfway across the globe even less,” Tony says.

Steve sighs. “I know. But, hey, at least you’re back now, right? You can get a nice long shower, I’ll make you some breakfast, and then maybe afterward we can spend a little time together. You know.”

Tony raises an eyebrow at him. “You are not seriously trying to get me into bed right now. My replacement is still laying  _right next_ to you!”

“Oh, come on,” Steve pleads. “It’s been like a month, honey, I know you’ve been missing it, too, and after you get cleaned up I know you’ll feel better -“

“No,” Tony says firmly. “No sex for the husband who replaced me with a cat.”

Steve pouts. “But -“

“No,” Tony says firmly, pulling his hands away from Steve’s and stepping back. “No sex. I am taking a shower, and you are going to go find a zoo or something for that animal to live in, and then maybe -  _maybe_ \- if you are very good I will allow you to give me a blow job. That’s it.”

That’s not it, of course - Tony’s the least selfish man alive and Steve can’t remember even a single time Tony accepted a blowjob without reciprocating in at least some way - so Steve just nods. “We might have to keep the cat for a while, though,” he says.

“No,” Tony says firmly. “No cat.”

(They end up keeping the cat. He lives with Natasha, who dubs him Mr. Wrinkles. Within a year he’s almost five feet long and stands up to Natasha’s waist. Every time Steve pets him, Tony frowns, but jealousy usually ends with sex for Steve - even if that jealousy is aimed towards a cat - so Steve really can’t complain.)


	125. All-American Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes almost eighteen months after the Battle of New York for Tony to break and invite the Avengers to live in the Tower. He says it's because he's selfish, but everyone knows better than that - really, it's because of Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a second mini fic for my MTH bidder who has been SO PATIENT while I take a million years to write their fic. THANK YOU, and I hope you like this!
> 
> irondad, fluff, pre-stevetony

It takes almost eighteen months after the Battle of New York for Tony to break and invite the Avengers to live in the Tower.

It’s not that he doesn’t want them there, though that’s the excuse he parades around to SHIELD and Pepper and anyone else prying into his business.  _I’m just not a team player,_ he says, sliding his purple shades onto his nose.  _I like my privacy._

It doesn’t really work too well, considering that that excuse hasn’t passed muster for almost three years now, since Peter came into Tony’s life. His mother was a one-night stand during Tony’s ‘oh fuck I’m dying of palladium poisoning’ phase, and she had been ready to put Peter up for adoption before Tony stepped in. Sometimes - more often than he’d care to admit - he wonders if it was the right decision to keep him. Surely, there are better parents out there in the world, people more stable and loving who would be able to give Peter an immeasurably better childhood than a former-alcoholic, narcissistic superhero.

But then Peter does something like mash a plate of peas to the ground or toss his plastic truck out the window or slobber all over the Iron Man suit, and Tony knows there’s no way he could have done anything else. Regardless of how good a father is, how perfect or imperfect he may be, how could he give this up? Peter, smiling like that, dimples peeking out from his fat little cheeks as he babbles on, half in Italian and half in English, waving his little fuzzy ducky in his fist.

The point is: Peter is the center of Tony’s life now, so nobody really believes him anymore when he says he’s too selfish to share. Still, they don’t push, probably because they can also see the obvious reason he doesn’t want his home to become the headquarters of a superhero group: Peter’s safety. It’s bad enough that he’s living with someone with as big of a target on their back as Tony, and he doesn’t want to push his luck any more than he has to.

But as the days pass, turning into weeks and months, Tony is constantly reminded why a team base would be such a good idea. It’s exhausting, this constant back and forth - to SHIELD for training exercises, to SHIELD for missions, to SHIELD for debriefs and meetings and all the other bureaucratic crap most people don’t realize comes with being a crime-fighting vigilante. On top of Tony’s full-time job, it’s sucking all his free time, and he finds himself, despite his best efforts, spending less and less time with Peter. He hates it.

Plus, Tony thinks maybe his worries about safety were slightly overrated. Neither the Tower nor SHIELD has been attacked by any over-eager supervillians since the Battle of New York, and the more Tony thinks about it, the more he realizes Peter might actually be more protected in the case of another invasion. Having six superheroes in the house, after all, is a better defense than just one, and it’s with this and his increasingly limited free time in mind that he finally extends the invitation to the team after a SHIELD meeting.

“Are you sure?” Steve asks, brows furrowed into a frankly adorable expression that really shouldn’t remind Tony of Peter as much as it does. “I don’t want anyone to pressure you into something you’re uncomfortable with.”

“Aww, baby, are you worried about me?” If Tony’s pout is particularly exaggerated, it’s only because he’s trying to hide the very real flutter in his chest at the the thought that Steve actually gives a shit. “That’s cute, but let’s be real - nobody can make me do anything.”

Steve rolls his eyes “You’re right,” he agrees. “I don’t know what I was thinking. When do you want us to move in?”

And just like that, Tony has housemates. He doesn’t even know when they move in - one morning, his home is empty, and the next, he’s got half a dozen superheroes clustered around his breakfast bar, bickering as pancakes bubble away on the stovetop.

“Hey,” Bruce says, when he sees Tony in the doorway. “You want some breakfast?”

Tony opens his mouth to decline automatically, but instead what he says is, “Yeah, actually, that sounds good. Could you make one with chocolate chips in it? I’ll be right back.”

“So picky,” Clint complains, but Tony ignores him in favor of ducking out towards his own floor. He glances at his watch as he goes - normally, he avoids doing this, but it’s almost eight a.m. now, and if Peter isn’t awake already -

But Tony doesn’t have to worry about it, because, sure enough, when he peeks in to Peter’s room he finds him wide awake. He’s still curled in bed, but he’s got a teddy bear in each fist, and is making them babble to each other in the darkness. It’s not until Tony flicks on the light that he sees that they’re not just any old bears but Captain Abearica and Iron Bear, Peter’s two favorite toys second only to his stuffed duckling.

“Hey, Peter Pan,” Tony says, and is rewarded by Peter’s blinding grin as he whips around to look at Tony.

“Daddy!”

“You ready for some breakfast?”

“Yes!” Peter declares, hopping out of bed. “Can Captain Abearica come with us?”

Tony considers saying no, because he’s not sure he wants to see the look on Steve’s face when Peter brings a Captain America toy to breakfast, but it’s impossible to turn down that little face. “Only if you’re very careful to keep him clean and out of the syrup.”

Peter nods eagerly. “All right, then, duckling, let’s go.” Tony swoops down to pick Peter up, still in his fuzzy, footy pajamas, and hoists him up onto his hip. “We have some guests for breakfast today.”

“Who?”

“You’ll see when we get down there,” Tony says cryptically.

Peter kicks excitedly. “Is it the President? Is it Aunt Pepper?”

“No and no,” Tony laughs as they step into the elevator.

“Uncle Rhodey?”

“Not quite.”

“Mmmh, hmmm -“ Peter makes an exaggerated frown as he considers. “Is it Clifford?”

Tony raises a brow. “The big red dog?”

“Yep!”

Tony grins. “No, I’m sorry, kid. I think you’ll like who it is more, though.”

“I don’t like anyone more than Clifford,” Peter says gravely.

“Well, we’ll see about that.” The elevator dings and Tony steps off onto the common floor. From the kitchen, there’s the sound of low voices and laughter, and floating through the halls is the smell of eggs and bacon cooking.

“Hey y’all, no swearing!” Tony calls, just before he pushes through the kitchen door.

The whole room seems to go slack with surprise. “Tony,” Steve says, eyes wide, but Tony doesn’t get to hear the end of the sentence before Peter is shrieking in his ear and permanently damaging Tony’s eardrums.

 _“Captain America!”_ he yells, eyes as wide as saucers. “’Daddy, Daddy, it’s Captain America!!”

“Yes it is,” Tony agrees. “And I think he made you some pancakes. Wanna sit down?”

“This is the best day ever,” Peter whispers, without tearing his eyes away from Steve, who’s starting to blush under the intense scrutiny.

“Okay, fanboy, get in your chair.”

Tony sets him down and Peter, still wide-eyed, stumbles his way to his seat and heaves himself up onto the chair. He’s gotten rather good at it, Tony has to admit - insists on doing it himself, of course, despite the fact that the chair is at least as tall as he is, but at least he’s building upper body strength. That’s good, right?

Tony is a horrible father.

“Uh, is the chocolate for Peter?” Steve asks, finally, when neither Tony nor Peter say anything else.

“Oh, yeah,” Tony says, at the same moment Peter screeches, “ _Chocolate?”_

“Chocolate chip pancakes, buddy,” Tony says, accepting the plate Steve passes him and setting it on the table in front of Peter. Peter moves as if to grab one with his fist, but Tony interrupts gently, “Nuh uh, we’re gonna use a fork like a big boy, right?”

“Right,” Peter agrees, nodding quickly. “Can you please cut up my pancakes for me, Daddy?”

“Of course, Petey,” Tony agrees, ducking to press a quick kiss to Peter’s unruly curls before grabbing one of the sets of silverware at the table and slicing Peter’s breakfast in quick, efficient movements. “You want syrup?”

“Yeah, but I can pour it, Daddy!”

He can’t, probably - he’ll end up with half a gallon on his two little pancakes - but Tony sighs and hands him the bottle anyway. “Remember, go slowly -“

He does end up with more than he probably needs, but it’s not a completely ridiculous amount. “Remember, keep Cap out of your syrup,” Tony warns Peter, as he takes his fork in hand.

“I know, Daddy,” Peter says long-sufferingly, and Tony rolls his eyes but steps away obligingly.

Luckily, Peter seems distracted enough by his rare, sugary breakfast that, at least for the moment, he gives up on his pursuit of Cap. Tony chats with the other avengers, but also keeps an eye on Peter as he eats, heart swelling at the way he offers bites of his pancake to Captain Abearica while carefully keeping the syrup off of his fur. By the time Peter’s done eating, most of the team has filtered out of the room, leaving just Tony, Steve, and Peter behind.

“All done?” Tony asks, when Peter stops picking at the last couple of squares of pancake on his plate. Peter nods, so Tony lifts him out of his chair, carrying him over to the high kitchen sink so he can wash his hands under the warm water.

“Now, time to go brush your teeth,” Tony says, as he sets Peter back down. “And don’t forget Cap.”

“Okay, daddy,” Peter chirps, pulling Cap off the table by one paw and skipping out of the room.

In his absence, the room seems suddenly quiet, the easy conversation of earlier fizzled out. “Well,” Steve says finally, as the silence stretches on. “I should get going. Get to the gym and all that.”

Tony nods. “Right,” he agrees. “Yeah, I’m sure Peter’ll have me playing legos in the next five minutes anyway, so.”

Steve pauses a moment longer before nodding and moving towards the door. “Thanks for breakfast,” Tony calls after him as he goes.

“Oh, don’t mention it,” Steve says. He pauses in the doorway, glancing back at Tony over his shoulder. “Actually, uh - I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything, but I just wanted to say - Peter, he’s lucky to have you. You’re a good dad.”

Tony blinks, not sure what to say. He can’t remember the last time someone said something like that to him, let alone in a tone of voice that genuine. “Uh. Thanks?”

Steve nods quickly. “You’re welcome. And, uh - if you ever need anyone to babysit. I’m available.”

Tony feels a smile curling at the corners of his lips. “So Peter didn’t scare you away with his fangirling?”

Steve’s brow furrows. “Fangirl - you know what, never mind. No. He’s a cute kid, seems like a good one, too. It’d be fun to get to hang out with him a little bit.”

Tony shakes his head. “Your funeral,” he agrees, but he’s smiling.

“If he’s anything like his dad, then I’m sure it will be,” Steve agrees. “Anyway, uh, I should probably be going, give you two some space -“

“Or you can stay?” Tony offers. He almost regrets it the moment it comes out of his mouth, but then Steve’s face lights up, a cautious sort of hope, and Tony finds himself saying, “I’m sure Peter would love to play with you. If, you know, you’d like too.”

Steve’s face is so soft, Tony thinks. How has he not even noticed this before? He’s hot and lovely and attractive and, yes, Tony knew all that, but how did he never see this, this delicate sort of kindness?

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Yeah, actually, I’d love that.”


	126. A Truth and A Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony flashes back to the interview, McKenna’s pursed lips and wide innocent eyes, and waits for Steve’s denial. He’ll say no, any second now he’ll say no, and this whole conversation will end -
> 
> “Yes,” Steve says, voice quiet and guilty, and Tony’s heart just about falls out of his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> commission for Anonymous who wanted some sort of misunderstandings! i threw my bb carol in there bc i just watched Captain Marvel and, why not?
> 
> established relationship, misunderstandings, happy ending, hurt/comfort, CAROL

“- and it was really a whirlwind romance from there,” the woman on the screen says. She’s wearing a skin-tight white dress, cut to show off her baby bump, which she’s got one hand resting protectively over. She looks perfectly innocent in the bright lights of the studio, under the sympathetic gaze of the reporters. Tony gets why they’re sympathetic, he does - he would feel bad, too, if the story was true, but it’s _not,_ and you’d think a major news organization like that would want to check their facts a little better.

Then again, it is Fox News, so maybe he shouldn’t have expected even that much.

“And you say Captain Rogers asked you about having a baby, is that correct?” Megyn Kelly presses. “He _wanted_ to start a family with you.”

“Yes,” the girl confirms. Her name is McKenzie, Tony thinks, or McKenna. He’s not sure because he missed the first half of the interview, only tuning in when Jarvis and half of the Stark Industries Public Relations department brought it to his attention. “Like I said, it was really a whirlwind romance, and we knew right from the beginning that this was it for us. So when he said he wanted to have kids with me, I was thrilled.”

“Do you worry that going public will put the safety of your baby at risk?”

McKenzie looks thoughtful, stroking one hand on her belly. “Yes,” she admits. “But it was the only way. Tony Stark - he corrupted Steve before, to that alternative lifestyle, and Steve was breaking free but I think Stark’s got his hooks in him again. I haven’t been able to reach Steve for weeks - it’s like he’s just disappeared. I’m hoping that going public will be able to jolt him out of whatever brainwashing he’s been put under, get him back on track.”

And, okay, this was ridiculous the whole time, but now Tony really can’t take it anymore. “Turn it off,” he instructs Jarvis, and the screen blinks black.

“What shall I tell the PR department, sir?” Jarvis asks. “They’re wanting a statement.”

Tony waves a hand. “Tell them use the regular speech, just change it up to fit Cap. We want a paternity test and all that, and only if it comes back positive would we be willing to consider this notion, etc. etc.”

“So you’d like to deny it?” Jarvis confirms.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Yes, of course we’re denying it, have you met Steve, Jarvis?”

“You are correct, sir, of course,” Jarvis agrees. “I merely wanted to confirm.”

“Well, there you go. Has anyone told Steve about this? He probably won’t take it well, I should break it to him gently.”

“No, they have not,” Jarvis says. “Captain Rogers is in the kitchen, currently making breakfast.”

“Thanks, Jay,” Tony says, and heads for the elevator.

The thing is, Tony thinks as the elevator carries him upwards, he really is quite calm. There was a time that wouldn’t have been true. Past partners, even earlier times in his and Steve’s relationship - he hadn’t always had this sort of solid trust and faith in his partner, so to feel it now is actually quite refreshing. He doesn’t even feel like he needs to ask Steve whether or not it’s true, though he’s sure Steve will assure him it’s not, because he knows it isn’t. Steve wouldn’t do that to anyone, but he especially wouldn’t do that to Tony. He loves him, and he’s a faithful man. There would have to be something seriously wrong in their relationship for him to break like that, and Tony knows there isn’t. Not now, at least, and hopefully not ever.

The elevator dings, and Tony steps out onto the communal floor. The living room is empty, but from the kitchen Tony can hear the faint sound of voices. He gets almost halfway there before he can make them out - Carol and Steve, arguing about something. He’s about to go in there and interrupt it - because whatever they’re bickering about, be it sparring plans or whether dogs or cats or superior, he figures it’s unimportant - when Carol says something that stops him in his tracks.

“Is it true?” she demands. She sounds angry, furious, almost madder than Tony’s ever heard her. He pauses in the doorway, one hand against the wall, and listens. “Did you actually do it?”

Tony flashes back to the interview, McKenna’s pursed lips and wide innocent eyes, and waits for Steve’s denial. He’ll say no, any second now he’ll say no, and this whole conversation will end -

“Yes,” Steve says, voice quiet and guilty, and Tony’s heart just about falls out of his chest. He’s glad he’s leaning up against the wall, otherwise he would stumble. “I’m sorry, but I did.”

In the other room, Carol explodes. “I can’t believe you!” she yells. “That’s so irresponsible of you -“

Tony can’t listen to any more. He spins on his heel and moves as fast as his legs will take him, jabbing the button in the elevator once, twice, three times before the doors finally slide closed. He moves like a robot, on autopilot, and it’s not until he finds himself face to face with his and Steve bed that he’s realizes he’s instinctively run towards their bedroom instead of his workshop.

Tony knows he should turn around and leave, go to the workshop and put it into lockdown mode, but he can’t quite make himself move. He sits down on the edge of the bed, puts his hands on his knees, and tries to breathe. This can’t be true, it must be some mistake - but it is, and it isn’t, and Carol’s probably about to throw Steve out of the Tower with her binary mode right now because of it. Unfortunately, it doesn’t really make Tony feel any better.

He’s not sure how long passes - minutes, hours, seconds - before someone clears their throat in the doorway. When Tony looks up, he finds both his best hopes and worst dreams confirmed: it’s Steve.

“Hey,” Steve says, casual, but then Tony looks up and catches Steve’s eye and Steve’s face falls. “Oh, no,” he says, “not you, too?”

Whatever Tony was expecting, that wasn’t it, and he looks back down at his hands, blinking hard. Even if he’d driven Steve to be unfaithful, he didn’t think he could make him _cruel,_ but that’s what Steve is being right now, and it makes Tony’s chest ache.

“Well, yeah,” he says, voice coming out thick and wet. “Duh, me, too.”

From the doorway, Steve just sighs. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to upset anyone.”

And, okay, that really doesn’t make sense. “Didn’t mean to upset anyone?” Tony demands, looking up to meet Steve’s eyes. “What did you think was going to happen?”

Steve huffs, waving a hand in front of him. “It was an _accident,_ okay!”

“An accident?” Tony chokes out a hollow laugh. “How do you accidentally impregnate someone, did you just _trip_ and fall into her pussy -“

“ _What?”_

Tony shakes his head, looking back down. “You know, all the things I was worried about in this relationship and it turns out _that’s_ what I should have been watching for -“

“Tony, what on Earth are you talking about?”

“McKenna!” Tony yells. “McKenzie, whatever the hell her name is! The one on Fox News right now! I heard you and Carol talking, I know it’s true, okay, so you don’t need to bother lying about it -“

“Who is McKenna?” Steve asks. “And when were me and Carol ever talking about her?”

“Just now!” Tony yells, shoving himself up from the bad. He’s still hurt and upset, but now he’s pissed off, too, because the very fucking _least_ Steve could do is not try to lie to Tony’s face about this. “You were in the kitchen, I was coming to warn you and then I heard you two yelling and she asked you if it was true, and you said _yes!”_

“Tony, she was asking me if I accidentally donated her mug to Goodwill!”

Tony - stops. Steve looks - genuinely shocked right now, Tony thinks, his eyes wide and sincere, and, wait, _what?_

“Say what now?”

“Tony,” Steve says, taking a careful step closer. “I accidentally donated Carol’s mug to Goodwill. The one her niece made her. I was doing some spring cleaning this weekend, and some of the team’s stuff got mixed in, and she’s pretty pissed for justified reasons, and so are a few other Avengers, but we weren’t talking about - whatever you’re talking about.”

Tony has no idea what to say. “Oh.”

“What were you talking about?” Steve asks. “This - McKenna, or whatever, did you say I _impregnated_ her -“

“Oh my god.” Tony smacks a hand over his face. “Shit. Wow, I just fucked this up. Uh, yeah, so it turns out there’s some chick in the media pretending she’s having your baby, and she’s got some pictures of you two together a while ago to prove you’re in a secret relationship, or whatever, it’s all over Fox News.”

“She’s doing _what?”_

Tony waves a hand. “Yeah, honestly, it happens kind of a lot. I’m surprised nobody’s tried it on me since we got together.”

“But you - you believed her?”

Steve’s expression is quickly transitioning from shocked to hurt, and Tony hurries forward to take Steve’s hands in his. Luckily, Steve lets him. “I didn’t at first, I’m not stupid, I just - I heard you talking to Carol, and I guess I overreacted, I’m sorry -“

“No,” Steve interrupts, and Tony is worried for a second when Steve breaks one of his hands out of Tony’s grip, but it’s only to free it so he can wrap it around Tony’s waist. “You don’t need to apologize. I mean, it was a leap, but I can see how you would get confused. I’m pretty sure Carol’s gonna come kill me again as soon as she sees the news, actually.”

Tony snorts. “Probably,” he agrees, nestling a little closer to Steve. “Still, I am sorry. Are you okay?”

“Me?” Steve shakes his head. “Yeah, I’m fine, of course. It’ll blow over, right?”

“Right,” Tony confirms. “We’ll ask for a paternity test and she’ll hem and haw and suddenly disappear, and in a few months nobody’ll even remember this happened.”

“Good,” Steve says. “Because you should know - I wouldn’t cheat on you. Not ever, okay?”

“I know,” Tony says. “I was being stupid, I know you wouldn’t do that. Just, you know - irrational emotions.”

Steve huffs, ducking in to press a quick kiss to Tony’s lips. It’s warm and soft, and Tony immediately wants more.

He’s about to suggest as much when there’s a sudden crash from the area of the living room. “Steve Rogers,” Carol yells, voice dangerous and low, the way it gets sometimes when she’s about to go supersonic. “Fox News better be lying again, because I _swear to God_ if you cheated on Tony I will rip your prostate out of your ears - oh, hey, Tony.”

Tony has to muffle his laugh in Steve’s shoulder. “Hey, Carol,” he manages around shakes.

“It’s not true,” Steve tells her. Immediately, she visibly relaxes, hands unbunching at her sides.

“Good, because I could whoop your ass,” she tells him seriously.

“I appreciate the backup,” Tony tells her. “Really.”

Carol sniffs, tossing her hair over one shoulder. “Well, you’re like my baby brother,” she says. “I gotta protect you.”

Tony yells and throws a pillow at her. She ducks it easily and spins, laughing, out of the room.

Still, it’s the sentiment that counts, so the next morning, when Carol walks in to the kitchen, her favorite mug is waiting at her place for her, filled with coffee and sugar.

“You found it!” she exclaims, hurrying over to settle her fingers in the well-worn grooves.

“Yep,” Tony agrees. He’s wrapped around Steve, who’s making bacon and serving as Tony’s human shield to protect him from the grease.

“Thank you,” Carol says. When she comes over to give him a kiss on the cheek, she’s beaming. “I really appreciate it.”

Tony shrugs. “No problem.” Carol was willing to kill Steve for him, after all, and possibly go to jail for assault and battery to boot. The least he can do is search a couple of Goodwills for her.

“I still got my eyes on you, Cap,” Carol says, and smacks him in the ass for good measure. Steve jolts under Tony, face and neck going red, and Tony can’t hold back a giggle.

“Stop laughing or you won’t get any bacon,” Steve tells him, as sternly as he can manage when he’s as pink as a pig.

Tony laughs until his stomach burns. Steve still gives him the bacon.


	127. Captains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets a little high after surgery. Carol and Steve bring him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> established relationship, fluff, more Carol but no Captain Marvel spoilers still

“Carol,” Tony drawls, voice thick and slow like his tongue is coated in taffy. “You’re a  _Captain.”_

Carol raises an eyebrow at him. She had known Tony would be loopy after the surgery, but she hadn’t honestly expected much. Tony barely had a filter at the best of times - what weird things could he really say?

Turns out, a lot of weird things.

“Well, not really,” she says. “I never earned that title.”

Tony harrumphs, waving a sloppy hand through the air. “’s not the point. You’re  _my_ Captain. Ya know. Of the Avengers.”

“Yes, I am,” Carol agrees. They’re coming up on a closed double-door, but before Carol has time to blow it open with her photon blasts a kind orderly comes through and holds it for her. “Thank you,” she says, maneuvering Tony’s wheelchair carefully through the door.

“Thank youuuuuu,” Tony mimics in a sing-song voice, waving at the bemused orderly as they pass him.

“Anyway, what we were talking about? Ice cream? No,  _Steve.”_

“We were talking about Captains,” Carol says.

Tony nods vigorously. “ _Yes,”_ he says, “My captain in  _bed.”_

“Oh, good god,” Carol says.

Tony ploughs on, undeterred. “Like, really. He was.  _So jealous,_ after you took over the Avengers. Because, like. I had to call you Captain, you know? Captain my Captain, but  _he_ was my Captain, and, oh, boy, can I just tell you, the  _hickeys_ he gave me that night -“

“Oh, look, a puppy,” Carol diverts. The puppy is little, a golden retriever, maybe, tied up to the pillar right outside the Hospital’s double doors.

“ _Puppy!”_ Tony gasps. “Oh, my god, Sir Reginald, you look so dapper today -“

“Sir Reginald?” someone asks.

Carol turns to find Steve hopping out of the driver’s seat of his car, raising his eyebrows at them. “Hey, he’s your husband.”

Steve huffs. “Yeah, and now he’s not going to leave that poor dog alone.”

Carol looks back down. Tony is leaning so far forward in his wheelchair he’s barely still sitting, and is fumbling with grabby fingers for the dog’s soft fur. The puppy, at least, seems to be down with it, and is licking its way up Tony’s pajama sleeves with its wet little tongue.

“Well, that’s your problem, now,” Carol says, stepping back from Tony. “I’ve heard enough emotionally disturbing things for one day. I think I’m going to take the shortcut home.”

“Wait, Carol -“

Carol turns away before Steve’s puppy dog eyes can get her and jets straight up into the air. The wind whips at her face and in her lungs. She’s about to take off for the Tower before she thinks better of it and pauses, glancing down at Tony and Steve. Tony’s sprawled entirely across the pavement, now, having abandoned his wheelchair entirely in pursuit of the puppy, but Steve is bent over him, presumably trying to coax him up from the sidewalk. Carol smiles to herself and turns back to the sky. They’ll be fine.


	128. Venezuela

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There it is, shining bright in the middle of the screen.
> 
> from: Tony
> 
> When I drift off, I’ll be thinking of you. It’s always been you.
> 
> Received, 8:07 am.
> 
> Steve’s heart drops out of his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a fill for a prompt by anonymous who basically wrote the whole plot out for me. thank you, anon!
> 
> hurt/comfort, established relationship, breaking up and making up, blood tw

Stupidly enough, they break up the day before their anniversary.

It would have been five years: five years married, that is, and a whole eight together. Either way, it was a long fucking time, and Steve was looking forward to celebrating it with his husband, cracking out the fancy hot chocolate and Tony’s favorite cookies, and generally just spending the sort of quality time together they so rarely got.

But when he arrived home from the grocery store that evening, the fancy chocolate tucked away at the bottom of his reusable shopping bag, it was to find Tony waiting for him at the kitchen table. His hands were clasped and his lips pursed; he looked serious in a way he so rarely did, the worry lines by his eyes making him look suddenly older and more jaded.

“Steve,” Tony had said when he’d seen him, the frown only deepening. “Can you, uh, take a seat? There’s something I should probably tell you.”

Steve had pulled a chair close to him at the table and clutched his hand between both of his. “What is it?” he’d asked, heart thumping in his throat. “Is something wrong? Are you sick?”

Tony shook his head hastily. “No, no, nothing like that. It’s -“ Tony sighs, looks down at their joined hands. “I’m going back to the newspaper.”

Foolishly, Steve had brightened. Tony had been retired from the paper for almost two years, now. He’d continued working there after Afghanistan, just shifting departments to do more domestic coverage, but a couple of years ago he had grown tired of it and decided to take a break. It had been good, at first, but lately Tony has confided he’s been feeling less relaxed and more bored straight by all the free time he has; going back to the paper will be great for him. “Tony, that’s amazing news! What section are you working in? Do they want you to relocate?” Maybe that’s what Tony is worried about. Steve hurries to reassure him, “Because we can do that, if we need to. Whatever I need to do to support you.”

But Tony just bit his lip. “It’s - it’s not a new section, Steve. It’s foreign correspondence. It’s the same position I had before we met.”

That’s when Steve’s stomach fell down to his shoes.

Tony knew how Steve feels about Tony’s old position. The only reason Tony even  _survived_ that position was because of Steve - Steve and his team and a lucky guess at location triangulation that liberated Tony just as his captors were ready to cut his arm off. Tony had told Steve he would never go back to that job. And it was a two-way street; Tony, like Steve, hated the idea of seeing his husband in danger, and so Steve had promised him, too, that he’d never go back to his old dangerous careers. They were supposed to be past this. They - Jesus, just last month they’d talked about  _adoption_ in their future and now -

“What the hell?”

Steve was too upset to contain his anger, and Tony, as always, was stubborn like nothing else. Conversation went out the window, and screaming took its place - screaming for hours, until it was so late in the evening that the cops have to come to tell them to calm down. None of it did any good. Tony was resolute in his decision, horrible as it was, and resistant to any discussion of a compromise whatsoever. Steve was terrified and accusatory to cover it, trying to produce every reason in the book that Tony couldn’t go.

“You can’t decide for me!” Tony had finally yelled. His eyes were red and wet, but his fists were balled by his sides, determined. “It’s my life, Steve! I can make my own fucking decisions, I can do what I want, and if you actually loved me you’d accept that!”

Steve had reeled back. “I’m your  _husband,”_ he’d said, hurt curling around his lungs. “How - how could you say that?”

Tony had just shaken his head, raising one hand to hastily wipe at his eyes. “I don’t know,” he’d said. “How could I not?”

Steve had spent the night at Bucky’s, then the next. Then the one after that, too. Soon a day had turned into a week, and every moment that passed, Steve’s heart longed a little bit more for Tony. He was debating going back, buying flowers and pleading forgiveness despite his lingering anger, when he got a text from Tony that made his blood run cold.  _Left today,_ it said.  _Should be back stateside in three weeks. I’ll keep you updated._

So it didn’t matter, anymore, if Steve showed up at the apartment with flowers. Tony wasn’t there. Tony left. That evening, he went back, packed what few things he could say were definitely his, and left. He booked a shitty motel room on the outskirts of Queens, politely turning down his friend’s offers of their spare bedrooms. Life went on. He commuted to work every morning, watched nightly television on his grainy little TV set every night, and for twenty four hours a day, twirled his ring around his finger and waited for messages from Tony. It wasn’t a permanent solution, but it worked. At the back of his mind, some part of him was sure that he and Tony could figure this out. One of them would change their mind, or they could come to a compromise,  _something._ No part of him ever believed that this was how their story would end.

-

Then, three months after their fight, CNN announces that Tony is missing.

It’s a short segment, without fanfare.  _While covering a democratic protest in Venezuela, our reporter, Tony Stark, lost contact with our main news team. It has been over forty-eight hours since we have heard from Tony, which is why he has now officially been declared missing in action. CNN will keep you updated as this situation progresses, and we ask you to keep Tony in your thoughts and prayers. Our hearts go out to his family and friends._

And -  _what?_

For a second, when he sees it, Steve is sure it’s some sort of convoluted mistake. They would have had to have contacted him, after all; he’s Tony’s emergency contact, and even if they’re separated, he’s still his husband. How could Tony be declared missing without Steve even knowing about it?

Steve types Rhodey’s number with fumbling fingers. The phone rings, then rings again, and again. Steve is just about to hang up when someone answers.

“Steve,” Rhodey says, voice low and tired, and that’s when Steve knows it’s true.

The next few hours pass in a blur. He doesn’t remember much: calling Bucky, Natasha, Sam, yelling at Rhodey on the phone, yelling at military superiors. Calling in every favor he has, using his Bronze Star as a bargaining chip, begging. Eventually, some part of it works, because when Steve and Bucky show up at the military base, shocked and shaking, they’re ushered right tin.

“We need a plan, here,” someone is saying now. They’re in a crisis room, Steve thinks; he’s not sure, given that he’s never been in one before. He was a soldier, not a general. “We can’t just go search all of Venezuela for a single reporter.”

 _Yes we can,_ Steve thinks immediately.  _I will._

“Why not?” Rhodey demands, his voice tinny over the speakerphone they’ve put him on. He’s in Afghanistan and, like Steve, has called in all of his favors to get in on this. Unfortunately for him, those favors aren’t enough to get permission to leave his post and come to New York, not even for a war hero.

The commander just huffs. “You know damn well why, Colonel,” he says. “I’m sorry, but there’s just nothing we can do at this specific moment.”

“Bullshit,” Bucky pipes up from his corner. “There’s always something we can do.”

“There is  _not,”_ the commander counters, “Unless you’re thinking reconnaissance and reaching out to our contacts, which I’m guessing you aren’t.”

“But if we can just -“

“We need a  _location,_ private,” the commander interrupts. “Unless you can give me that, or some approximation of that, you should sit your ass down and shut your mouth. You all have called in some fancy favors, but I’m still in charge, here. Don’t forget that.”

The room is silent. “Look,” Rhodey says finally, placatingly, “We get that. We don’t mean to act otherwise. It’s just - this is a very personal case for us, commander, and we’re concerned.”

“I know, which is why I haven’t already written these two up. But you need to get it under control and use your brain if you actually want to solve this.”

Steve shakes his head. Normally, he’d be yelling and arguing along with the rest of them, but he can barely process this, let alone do something about it. “I’m - I need a minute,” he says, and before anyone can say anything to him, ducks out of the room.

He finds a dark hallway to duck into and leans up against the wall, taking a deep breath. He’s terrified and tired and his brain feels like mud, but he needs to push through it. Somewhere out there, Tony is waiting for him, lost or captured or God knows where, and the fact that Steve hasn’t slept in twenty-four hours doesn’t change that. He needs to take a breath, and focus, and  _think -_

“Hey,” Bucky says gently, settling a hand on Steve’s shoulder. Steve doesn’t open his eyes.

“Leave me alone,” he says. “I need a minute.”

“Okay,” Bucky agrees, and withdraws his hand. He doesn’t leave, though; Steve can still hear him breathing beside him, and half of him wants to demand that Bucky fuck off, and the other half wants to cling to him until his heart stops racing.

Steve takes a breath. He takes another breath.  _I can do this,_ he tells himself.  _You can do this. For Tony._

His phone buzzes.

Steve’s heart leaps in his chest.  _What if it’s Tony?_ he thinks, and immediately dismisses the thought as irrational. It’s probably his boss, asking why he hasn’t showed at work today, or one of his acquaintances asking a favor, not -

There it is, shining bright in the middle of the screen.

**_from: Tony_ **

_When I drift off, I’ll be thinking of you. It’s always been you._

Received, 8:07 am.

Steve’s heart drops out of his chest.

“Bucky,” he hears himself say, as if through water. He reaches out, fumbling, to smack at Bucky’s chest. “Oh, god, Bucky, look at this -“

The words blur on the screen under Steve’s unblinking stare. He can’t make himself look away.  _When I drift off, I’ll be thinking of you. It’s always been you. It’s always been you. It’s always been you._ This - this is a goodbye.

“Oh, shit,” Bucky says. “This - okay, this is bad, but we’ll figure this out, Steve, if his phone is on that’s a good sign - hey, Steve. Steve!”

It’s not until Bucky actually smacks his cheeks that Steve actually tears his gaze away from the phone to meet Bucky’s eyes. “He’s dying, Buck,” he whispers, throat thick. “He wouldn’t send this unless -“

Bucky shakes his head. “No, fuck that, we’re not going to think like that, Steve. Hey. His phone is on. That means we can try to ping it, which means we can find his location, which means we can find  _him._ We are going to find him, and we are going to get him, and everything is going to be fine. But you need to get it together.”

“Bucky -“

“Don’t make me fucking ground you for this,” Bucky warns, and Steve snaps his mouth shut. “Don’t think I won’t tell the commander to do it. Ground yourself, get your head in the fucking game. You’re not a civilian anymore, not right now.”

Bucky’s right. Steve closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then another. He needs to be there, to make sure they do everything they can to bring Tony back, but if he’s hysterical like this he’ll just make it worse. He opens his eyes.

“Let’s go,” he says, and with a sharp nod Bucky steps backwards.

“I’m going to talk to tech, you go get us a ride.”

Steve nods. “We’re going to do this, Steve,” Bucky tells him, voice low but firm. “We’re going to get him back.”

-

Thirty minutes later, they’re on a chopper on their way to Venezuela. Tony’s phone had pinged from somewhere near the Southern border, right on the edge of Brazil; the best they can tell, they’re headed into dense, wet forest.

“Probably hiding out there,” a senior commander had noted when they’d spotted the location. “It’s a good place to avoid an enemy, if you manage to slip away.”

So now, that’s what Steve is expecting: Tony, huddled behind some branch or brush, probably gravely injured, certainly exhausted and severely dehydrated. The thought makes Steve’s hands shake, his heart beat like a foot stomping against his ribcage, but he pushes it down and tries to squint his way through the haze. He’s almost there. They’re almost there, and they can get Tony, and Tony will be safe because he has to be. There’s no other option.

They reach the pinged coordinates several hours later, just as a storm is starting to bubble and spit on the horizon. “Should be below us!” the navigator yells from the front of the helicopter. “We’ll have to split up!”

They get lucky and find an area where they can land, a cleared little hill that looks singed at the edges. Steve has no idea what might have happened here, and right now, he doesn’t care. He’s itching to get moving, and the second they land, he does: boots on the ground and he’s jogging towards the trees, barely listening to what Bucky’s hollering behind him.

“I got North,” he yells behind him, and then he’s gone.

The forest is thicker than he’d expected, full of singing birds and the flapping of wet leaves and beneath it all a vague background noise like a sound machine. There are no paths, here, so Steve has to hack and push his way through the underbrush, calling, “Tony? Sweetheart?” every few meters, hoping maybe he’ll get lucky and Tony will respond.

The hours pass like rain dripping down from the canopy. Every extra minute, Steve’s lungs grow tighter as he imagines what’s happened to Tony since he sent that text, what, in that time span, could have gone wrong. Bucky hops on their comm systems periodically, to ask for updates, but so far, there’s nothing even remotely valuable - not a smudge of blood or a stray item of clothing or a trace of a footprint in the mud.

Then, just as Steve’s hope is beginning to falter, he hears it: a distinctly human cough, rasping and hard. He whirls around towards the source of the noise and he starts running again, sudden energy lighting up his bones. “Tony?” he calls. “Tony, are you there?”

There’s another hacking cough, from closer this time, and then a rough, barely perceptible, “Steve?”

“Yes, Tony, it’s me! I’m coming, just hold on, I’m -“ Steve smacks his comm button with shaking hands. “Bucky, it’s me, I’ve found him, I’ve - shit, Tony, where are you -“

Then Steve breaks through a mob of branches, and he’s there - Tony. Skin gray like a corpse, hands coated in brown blood, but eyes open. When he sees Steve, he smiles.

“Knew you’d be here at the end,” he croaks, as Steve falls to his knees beside Tony. “Figured it’d be cruel, to let me die alone.”

“You are not dying,” Steve says firmly. He presses his shaking hands against Tony’s abdomen, where the blood seems to cluster, and Tony gasps and shudders. “Shit, Tony, how bad are you hurt? What did they do to you?”

Tony doesn’t reply. “I’m glad you’re here,” he manages eventually. “I really - I thought you might not be.”

“Of course I’m here,” Steve says, but his voice is wobbling. “Hey, eyes open, soldier, you’re not allowed to sleep yet. Help is coming, I just need you to stay with me, okay?”

Tony just smiles at him, slow and vacant. “I hope you get my messages,” he says. “I love you so much, you know that? So much. Leaving you - stupidest decision of my fucking life.”

“Stop,” Steve commands even as he blinks back tears. “Just stop this, you’re not dying.”

With what seems like monumental effort, Tony raises one slack hand and settles it on top of Steve’s. “Oh, Steve,” he says. For a long moment, he just stares at Steve - eyes warm and brown but hollow like he’s drunk or dreaming. Steve feels his heart slow in his chest and fall in sync with Tony’s. For one breathless moment, time freezes.

Tony’s lips part, as though he wants to speak, but then they close again. Tony sighs, a shuddering breath against blood-wet lips. He looks beautiful, even like this, and Steve thinks it’s wildly unfair that someone like this should exist, someone who can shatter Steve’s heart with a flick of his wrist.

“Sunshine,” Tony murmurs. The moment stretches. And then it ends. Tony’s eyes slip closed.

“No,” Steve chokes, falling forward. He raises a hand from Tony’s abdomen, pressing it against his neck, but he can’t find a pulse. Maybe it’s too weak, maybe his hands are too slippery, but he can’t find a fucking pulse and suddenly he can’t get air into his lungs. “No, Tony, no, not yet, you can’t go yet -“

Steve’s not sure how much later it is when the others finally arrive. They have a stretcher, and a medic, and still they have to all but pull Steve from Tony. Bucky is the one that eventually rips Steve free with a two-armed grip around his chest. “Let them help him,” he says. “Let them help him, Stevie. He’s gonna be all right.”

-

They take him to a military hospital in Brazil.

They try to banish Steve from the premises as soon as he arrives - no family allowed, after all - but Steve sits firm and refuses to budge. It’s the one thing he knows how to do well, after all, and besides that, Steve honestly couldn’t leave if he wanted to. Time is like a pane of stained glass, fractured and indistinct, and Steve feels like he can barely remember how to breathe, let alone find his way to a hotel.

Eventually, he ends up in an on-call room, hunched over on a rickety cot, refusing to sleep as he waits for news out of Tony’s surgery.  _It could take a few hours_ , the nurse tells him when she guides him to the room. It’s a long procedure at the best of times, and Tony - well. It’s not the best of times.

Bucky yells his way into the room with Steve, and maybe it should be reassuring but in reality, it doesn’t help much at all. Steve just feels - numb, empty, in a way nobody but Tony could ever hope to fill.

Steve has no idea how long has passed by the time the nurse returns. She looks tired, scrubs rumpled, but when she sees Steve, she smiles. “He’s out of surgery,” she tells him, as he leaps to his feet. “And he’s stable. You can come see him, now, if you’d like.”

And yes, of course, Steve would like. The nurse guides him down the hall to a glass-walled hospital room covered by a line of plastic blinds. “You need to be quiet,” the nurse warns him before she opens the door. “This needs to be an atmosphere of rest, okay?”

“Yes,” Steve says hurriedly, “Yes, of course, of course.”

“Okay,” the nurse says, and lets him inside.

For a moment, Steve is frozen in the doorway. Tony - Tony looks horrible. His face is not only pale but bruised, almost sickly under the fluorescent lights, and through the thin sheets Steve can see strips of bandages wrapping up from Tony’s legs to his ribcage.

“Oh,  _sweetheart,”_ Steve hears himself say, and it’s like a spell is broken. He hurries forward to clasp one of Tony’s hands in both of his, feeling the pulse in Tony’s wrist below his fingertips. “I’m here, honey,” he says. “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

-

It takes almost two days for Tony to wake up.

In that time, three separate doctors, two nurses, and one security guard try to evict Steve from the ward. Each time, he refuses to budge, just holding on tighter to Tony’s hand and informing the interloper where they can stick it. If he was still an active member of the military, he’d almost certainly get a citation in his file, but he isn’t, so, short of throwing him from the premises, there’s not much they can do.

It’s almost three in the morning when Tony finally does wake. Steve is awake, too, trying and failing to focus on a book of sudoku he throws down the second he sees Tony’s eyes are open.

“Tony,” he says, reaching out for Tony’s hands. “Hey, sweetheart. How are you feeling?”

“Steve?” Tony’s voice is rough and thick with sleep. He blinks at Steve hazily. “Where are we?”

Steve strokes his thumb over the back of Tony’s hand reassuringly. “A military hospital in Brazil,” Steve says. “Do you remember what happened?”

Tony’s brow is furrowed. “But that was a dream,” he says, sounding distant. “You didn’t really - did you?”

Steve smiles as best he’s able, but it’s watery and weak. “Of course I did,” he says. “What did you expect?”

Tony just stares at him. “I think I’m dreaming,” he murmurs. “I’m - this must be a dream.”

Steve shakes his head. “Nope,” he says. “Not a dream. Just me.”

Tony blinks at him. “Oh my god,” he says. “ _Steve.”_

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, squeezing Tony’s hand a little tighter in his. “Steve.”

Tony stares, and then, suddenly, there are tears in his eyes and his lip is wobbling. “I’m sorry,” he rasps, “I miss you so much, I shouldn’t’ve said those things -“

“Shh,” Steve hushes him, leaning forward to press a kiss to Tony’s forehead. “I’m sorry, too, sweetheart. I was worried, but I overreacted, and I just -“ He shakes his head. “We don’t need to talk about this, now, okay? You need to rest.”

“But I -“ Tony clutches at Steve’s hand. “We’ll be okay, right?”

Steve nods. “We’ll be okay, honey. I’m not letting you go that easy. You can rest.”

Tony relaxes a little, but still looks wary. “Promise?”

“Promise,” Steve confirms, squeezing Tony’s hand in his own. “Now, rest.”

Sure enough, Tony’s eyes are already slipping closed of their own volition. “I love you,” Tony murmurs, just before he passes out.

Steve swallows hard. “I love you, too.”

They break up one day before their wedding anniversary, but they get back together three months later, and really, that’s the important part.


	129. Tear My Heart Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As he gets closer, he realizes the cardboard is faintly glowing at the seams, a familiar blue shade that makes Steve’s stomach lurch. He opens the box with shaking fingers
> 
> Inside, pillowed carefully on a bed of gauze bandages, is Tony’s arc reactor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANGST, established relationship, ambiguous ending (in the sense you can decide what it means)
> 
> commission for rainbowliebe - you can blame her for any and all pain this inflicts on you :)

Tony gets kidnapped a lot. It’s almost a ritual, at this point, a bi-monthly tradition like spring cleaning or gaining weight around Christmas time. Usually, the reasons are pretty straightforward: ransom, that’s a common one, or information about SHIELD. Information about weapons seems a very popular motivation, especially if you could kidnapping to  _build_ weapons as part of that category.

So, yeah, Tony gets kidnapped a lot. He doesn’t, though, often get kidnapped for leverage, despite what some people might think; because, for the most part, anyone willing and able to kidnap Tony is willing and able to kidnap the other Avengers, too. So it’s strange when, only three hours after Tony disappears off Jarvis’s radar in a little back alley in Boston, the Avengers get a letter delivered by drone.

They’re at SHIELD HQ, all clustered around a conference table trying to puzzle out who Tony’s kidnappers are this time. The letter is brought up by a junior agent almost shaking in terror when Steve rips the envelope from her grasp.

“Dear Captain America,” he reads. “Hope you’re nice and trained up, because we’ve got a workout for you, and a pretty little prize at the end of it. Come and get him.”

Below it are a set of coordinates located somewhere in Vermont.

Steve doesn’t hesitate. “Get me the Quinjet,” he demands.

“Hold on a damn second,” Natasha says.

Steve bristles. “They gave me the damn  _coordinates,”_ he snaps. “Who knows what they’re going to do if I don’t show, I need to -“

“You don’t need to do shit,” Natasha interrupts. “Think rationally about this, Steve. He’s their only bargaining chip. They’re not going to do anything to him just because you don’t take their bait.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Steve,” someone says, and it’s Barton, this time. “She’s right. You gotta think about this clearly.”

“Maybe I don’t  _want_ to think about this clearly,” Steve counters, but somewhere at the back of his analytical mind, he knows they’re right. It’s obviously a trap, and while Steve might care about his own safety less than Tony’s, he won’t exactly be able to rescue him if he gets killed traipsing right into a trap.

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Just focus, okay? We’ve got coordinates, there’s plenty we can do with that.”

“Natasha’s right,” Clint pipes up. “We’ll send some drones over for reconnaissance, and get working on tracking that letter. It was a mistake for them to try to contact us, and that’s a mistake we can take advantage of.”

So Steve, as much as he hates it, does nothing. He’s not any help with tracking tech, and he’s not much help with reconnaissance either, so he all but sits back and twiddles his thumbs. The others try to convince him to go home, and get some rest - it’s getting late, and Steve’s been sitting here for hours now, tense and stressed - but he ignores them. Logically, he knows he’s not exactly much help here, but he’d prefer to be close, if something comes up.

Eventually, though, Natasha forces him to his feet. “We’re going home,” she says, tone firm and brooking no argument. “All of us. There’s nothing we can do here, and this way we’ll have access to Tony’s lab if we need it.”

Steve has no idea  _why_ they would need that access, but then, he’s not the scientist. When Natasha tugs at him, he goes willingly, and soon, they’re back at the Tower. The rest of the Avengers arrive with them, a mob like a field trip group huddled in the back of a SHIELD van, all of them on-edge and worried and, for the most part, pretty bad at hiding it.

They don’t get even a moment to relax. As soon as they step off of the elevator, they see it: a package, waiting for them, on the center of the dining room table. “Jarvis,” Natasha calls, as Steve crosses the room hastily. “Who left this?”

“The package was given to a Stark Industries intern who was then instructed to bring the package to this floor.”

Steve ignores their continued conversation, all his attention focusing on the box in front of him. As he gets closer, he realizes the cardboard is faintly glowing at the seams, a familiar blue shade that makes Steve’s stomach lurch. He opens the box with shaking fingers

Inside, pillowed carefully on a bed of gauze bandages, is Tony’s arc reactor.

The world feels as if it has slowed to this moment, narrowed to contain only the small machine in Steve’s field of vision. He is suddenly hyper aware of the world around him: his own breath, the monotonous ticking clock in the corner, the faint spots of brown blood dotted across the gauze bedding.  _Oh god,_ Steve thinks, and can’t stop thinking. “Oh, god.”

“Steve?” It’s Natasha beside him, but Steve barely registers her cool fingers against his arm, her sharp intake of breath when she, too, sees what’s inside the box. “Bruce, get over here.”

Confirmation, Steve thinks fuzzily. She wants confirmation that this is Tony’s reactor, that this is his heart, ripped from his chest. But whose else could it be? Steve knows it perfectly, just like he knows everything about Tony’s body, its lines and weight and the cool reflective power of its smooth vibranium center. Steve doesn’t need to check: he knows this is Tony’s. Tony is dead.

“What - Jesus fucking Christ.”

Bruce’s voice is tense and green, and Steve doesn’t care. Let the Hulk come out, let him tear this Tower to shreds, let him destroy everyone who had so much as a breath of influence in doing this. Steve doesn’t care anymore.

Steve blinks and finds himself halfway across the room, blinks again and his shield is in his hands. “Steve,” Clint says from behind him, and he blinks and turns and him and Thor are hovering behind him, both their faces scarily blank. Across the room, Bruce is bent over the cardboard box with Tony’s heart in it, shaking with the effort of avoiding transformation, as Natasha murmurs to him at a low volume.

“Get out of my way, Clint,” Steve orders. His voice is hollow, robotic, and he doesn’t care in the slightest.

“You need to take a breath,” Thor says, voice gravelly and low.

Steve snarls. “I just got sent my partner’s  _heart_ in a  _box._ What I need to do is kill the monsters who did this.”

“Steve -“

“No,” Steve interrupts, with a sharp shake of his head. “I’m going, and you can’t stop me. Now get out of my way.”

Thor just frowns at him. “Please, be reasonable.”

“Get out of my  _way,”_ Steve snaps, and tries to elbow his way between them.

He gets Clint in the side, and he steps away with a soft  _oof,_ but Thor grabs him by the shoulder with one stupidly-strong, god hand. “I’m sorry about this,” he says gravely, and just when Steve is about to yell at him to get the fuck off, Thor punches him in the face.

He goes down like a light.

-

When he wakes up again, it’s with a pounding headache and a terrible sense of foreboding twisting in his stomach.

It only takes him a split second to remember why he’s here, and then he’s scrambling to his feet, swaying as waves of dizziness watch over him. He’s on the couch, like he’s been carried, but the floor is empty.

“Jarvis,” he manages, stumbling towards the door. “Where did they -“

“The Avengers have taken off in pursuit of Sir’s captors,” Jarvis interrupts. Like Steve, he doesn’t seem to be in a patient mood. “The Quintet is waiting for you on the roof.”

Steve jabs the button for the elevator once, twice, before deciding  _fuck it,_ and tearing open the door to the stairwell instead. By the time he gets to the jet he’s breathing hard, and his head is pounding even worse than before, but he doesn’t care. He barely even notices it. All he can think about is  _Tony Tony Tony._

Thankfully, Jarvis already has the coordinates plugged in and waiting for him, so all Steve has to do is get in and go. He pushes the Quinjet as fast as it can go and faster. It’s not fast enough.

By the time he makes it to the listed coordinates, the site is already swamped with SHIELD vans and agents. He lands the Quinjet on the closest patch of empty grass he can find, but still, as soon as he emerges, there’s an agent standing in his way.

“Captain,” she starts.

“Move,” he orders, and doesn’t wait for her to reply before pushing by her. He heads towards the warhouse building at a run, ignoring the sound of people calling his name, hearing only the pounding his own heart.  _Tony, Tony, Tony._

Thor is the one who stops him. Steve almost runs into him in the hallway, and tries to stumble by him anyway, but Thor grabs him by the shoulders with firm hands. “Steve,” he says, and he sounds so old right now, his eyes so soft and sympathetic and, oh no, not this -

“I’m so sorry,” Thor says, and Steve feels his lungs drop out of him. “We did all that we could.”

Steve’s head spins. He can’t comprehend this, can barely understand what Thor must mean. This - if Thor’s sorry, then that means -

“Where is he?”

Thor’s brows are pinched. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Captain -“

“It wasn’t a request.” Steve’s voice is hoarse like he’s been screaming. “Where is he.”

Thor sighs. “He’s with the others.”

Thor guides him through the facility, towards it’s basement. Some part of Steve thinks Thor must be wrong, that there must have been some trick here, because Tony’s not dead, he can’t be -

But there he is. Lying on the dirty concrete floor, eyes open and staring art the ceiling unseeingly - Tony. He’s half naked, covered in bumps and bruises and dirt under every possible surface. He’s dead.

“Tony,” Steve hears himself say. He stumbles, knees going out from under him, and strong arms catch him. He pays them no mind, breaking free to crawl over the floor to Tony. He’s vaguely aware there are other people in the room, murmuring in quiet voices, watching him, and he doesn’t care at all. “Tony.”

He lays his hand on Tony’s face. For the first time, it’s cold, skin growing tacky like plastic under Steve’s fingers. He rubs his thumb up his jaw. Never again will Tony have morning stubble or morning breath, never again will he get gunk in his eye or a cut on his cheek or a pimple on his nose. This face will stay exactly as is, until it deteriorates into dust and soil, because Tony -

Tony is dead.

“Steve,” someone says, “Steve, Steve, Steve -“ and Steve realizes he’s sobbing. He doesn’t care. He clutches Tony’s face in his too-strong hands, with a force he’d never dared to use before for risk of hurting him. He tucks his face into Tony’s neck and sobs, wetting the floor his tears. He doesn’t listen to anyone else.

-

That night, Steve doesn’t return home until so light that the sky has begun to brighten again. Tony is with him, but he doesn’t go to the penthouse with Steve; he’s sent to a different floor, a much colder and more medicinal place where he’ll await burial or cremation or whatever method of disposal he’s specified in his will. Steve has no idea what Tony wanted to happen after he died, because he hadn’t thought it could possibly come so soon: he hadn’t even wanted to think about it, even in the most emotionless, practical terms. Yet here he is.

Steve doesn’t want to think about it now, either, but he can’t force his mind to focus on anything else. He feels like he’s sleepwalking. Any moment, now, he’ll wake up from the nightmare, and find Tony aside him in bed, warm and soft and sleep-heavy. Any moment, now, he can wrap Tony up in his arms, press a kiss to Tony’s forehead, bury his face in Tony’s messy curls. Any moment now, he’ll step back into the correct universe, the one where Tony never leaves Steve’s side.

Steve makes it back to their room, and lays down on top of the sheets, fully clothed. He has no energy to move, to change into his pajamas or get ready for sleep. What’s the point, anyway? Sleep or waking, he’ll still be here, this limbo-like world, a hell of his own making.

Tony is dead.

Tony is dead and he’s not coming back. The world is still and quiet, the bedroom cold like a dark forest, and Steve is ready to sleep. He’s ready to be done with this world; he’s done enough for it. He should be allowed to be selfish, to drift off, dissipate, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Steve opens his eyes.

“Tony?”


	130. Dorito

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:
> 
> i would love to see a fic where tony calls steve a dorito on a daily basis and steve doesn’t know what they are (they were invented in the 60s i think??) but he kinda just rolls with it because he is a Good Husband and loves tony no matter how weird he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship

One of the first thing Steve learned about Tony was that he had something of a thing for nicknames.

It seemed like a rite of passage when getting to know Tony: getting dubbed with a nickname. Clint is Legolas, Thor is Pointbreak, Bruce is Jolly Green, Natasha is - nothing, because Tony is a very smart man who, Steve imagines, values the continued wellbeing of his testicles.

Steve, for his part, is Dorito. For the longest time, he isn’t sure what it references. Maybe he should have made more of an effort to figure it out, but the one time he tries to google it he just can’t get the spelling right - Dooreeto, Dorytoe, Doreato, nothing he tries ever works. Eventually, he gives up. He figures it’s not like it matters much - he probably wouldn’t understand it anyway. After all, even knowing that Legolas is a reference to some mythical fantasy novel, Steve doesn’t really understand why it’s such a fitting nickname for Clint. Whatever - it works.

And though Steve hadn’t trusted Tony at first, he’s since learned that Tony isn’t cruel-hearted. Even if his nicknames are a little teasing, a little stupid-sounding, it’s well-meaning and, Steve is sure, not intended to be offensive. So when Tony calls him Dorito, Steve just goes with it. It’s always joking, always brings a smile to Steve’s face, and is always said with that warm, soft voice that Tony uses around Steve, even before they start dating.

 _After_ they start dating, things are much the same. There are other nicknames now, too - sweetheart, darling, loverboy - but Dorito always crops up, again and again. Tony uses it almost as much as Steve’s real name.

And then, one day -

“Mmm,” Tony says, digging his fingers into a bag of tortilla chips. “These Doritos taste just as good as you, baby.”

Beside him, Clint grimaces. “I did not need to know that,” he says, but Steve ignores him in favor of frowning at the bag. He’d never looked too closely at them before, but now that he does he realizes that they’re labeled  _Dorito’s - Cool Ranch._

“Wait,” Steve says, “Have you been calling me a potato chip this whole time?”

“Tortilla chip,” Clint corrects automatically.

Tony makes a face. “Are you saying you don’t know what a  _Dorito_ is?”

“Well, I do now,” Steve says, gesturing towards the bag in Tony’s hand. “And you didn’t answer my question. Why are you calling me a potato chip?”

“Tortilla,” Clint says again.

“Well, I mean, just look at you, you’re -“ Tony waves a hand around in the air sloppily, as if to encompass all of Steve’s being. “Triangular. Your waist is fucking ridiculous, you can’t tell me there’s not a similarity there.”

Steve feels his eyebrows climb a little higher on his face. “You think I  _look_ like a potato chip?”

“For the last time, it’s a tortilla chip, please don’t make me say this again.”

Steve ignores him. “Why are you so offended?” Tony demands. “I’ve called you worse things. An asshole, for one.”

“Yeah, and I got just as mad then. Anyway, that’s not the point, okay, you call everyone an asshole, I’m the only one you call a  _Dorito_  -“

“Yeah, because it’s a term of affection!I’m sorry there’s nobody else in this building with a waist to shoulder ratio like yours, if there was, I’d call them a Dorito, too, but there isn’t -“

“I can’t believe you nicknamed me after a freaking snack food,” Steve says, shaking his head. “All the love and affection I send your way, and this is what I get in return -“

“Hey, some of my closest friends are named after foods, okay, Rhodey’s Sourpatch and Pepper is, well, Pepper, which admittedly isn’t really a food but it’s designed to be ingested, at the very least it has to count as a foodstuff -“

“You’re ridiculous,” Steve says, but even he can hear the fondness softening his tone. “So - so goddamn ridiculous, I should come up with a nickname for you, what’s a weird snack food?”

“Koolickles,” Clint volunteers. Steve furrows his brow, and Clint explains, “Pickles brined in Kool-Aid. It’s a Southern thing. They’re surprisingly not gross.”

Steve makes a face. “Still a bit of a mouthful,” he says.

“Pigs feet?” Clint tries.

“Ew.”

“Tootsie roll,” Clint offers. “I don’t care what anyone says, there is no good reason that the world should have chocolate-flavored candy. Just - make chocolate. What’s wrong with making chocolate? That’s a real weird food.”

“Tootsie roll.” Steve tilts his head, considering. “I like that. It’s even little and compact like you. Okay, Tony, you are now officially Tootsie.”

When Steve glances back over at Tony, he finds his eyebrows are so high they’re almost to his hairline. “I’m sorry, did you just call me  _short?”_

“You just said I looked like a chip, you don’t exactly have the moral high ground here, honey. Or should I say, tootsie.”

Tony shakes his head, eyebrows still raised, but there’s a smile curling at the stubborn corners of his lips. “You’re such a little shit.”

“I thought I was a Dorito?”

Tony shakes his head, grin growing. “A little shit,” Tony says again, but he steps forward, closing the gap between him and Steve, which has somehow shrunk during their argument, to press what he probably intends to be a quick kiss to Steve’s lips. Steve catches him around the waist, though, before he can duck away, and deepens it, licking the salt off Tony’s lips.

“Mmm,” Steve murmurs when he pulls back. “I taste good.”

Tony waggles his eyebrows. “Hell yeah you do, baby.”

From somewhere behind them, someone huffs. “Can you please not do this in the kitchen?” Clint asks. “I’m trying to eat here.”

“Sorry, Clint,” Steve says, at the exact same time Tony says, “Fuck off, Clint.”

There was a time Steve would have chided Tony for that, but now, he just grins. “Come on, tootsie,” he says, letting his hand slip down to pat Tony’s ass. “I’ve got a hankering for fake candy chocolate.”

“Well, if you’ve got a hankering,” Tony purrs, and lets Steve tug him off to bed.


	131. Mama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Bucky speaks, his voice is firm. “You need to get to Tony’s apartment right now.”
> 
> Steve’s heart jumps a little in his chest. Don’t panic, he thinks. “Why? What happened?”
> 
> There’s a crackle over the line, like Bucky’s sighing. “There was a car accident,” he says. “Tony’s parents are dead.”

Steve’s at his studio when he gets the call.

For a moment, he considers not answering it. This painting is due tomorrow, after all, and Steve knows he’s got at least a good few hours of work left before it’ll be finished enough that Steve won’t be embarrassed to submit it.

But his Ma taught him not to be rude, and so, when Bucky’s name pops up on the screen, Steve sighs, wipes his hands on his smock, and answers. “I’m busy, Buck.”

When Bucky speaks, his voice is firm. “You need to get to Tony’s apartment right now.”

Steve’s heart jumps a little in his chest.  _Don’t panic,_ he thinks. “Why? What happened?”

There’s a crackle over the line, like Bucky’s sighing. “There was a car accident,” he says. “Tony’s parents are dead.”

Steve leaves his canvas on the easel, his paints spread open and brushes wet. He breaks half a dozen driving laws speeding back to campus on his motorcycle, and he doesn’t care in the slightest. When he finally makes it to Tony’s - breathing hard from sprinting up the stairs, pink-cheeked from the December wind biting at his cheeks the whole way there - it’s to find Tony’s room full of people. Everyone, it seems, is there - Natasha and Sam and Bucky and Bruce, Thor and Pepper and Happy, and of course Rhodey, sitting beside Tony, a hand resting on his shoulder.

Tony, for his part, is sitting in bed, his legs swung over the sides. His cell phone lies discarded on the floor beside his foot, as if he had heard the news and stopped mid-motion, muscles going lax and cold.

“Tony,” Steve says.

Tony’s head, bent over, snaps up. His face is red and puffy like he’s been crying - because  _of course_ he’s been crying, his parents are  _dead._

“Sweetheart,” Steve says, unsure of what else to say. What do you say to your best friend when he becomes an orphan?

“Steve,” Tony croaks, fresh tears welling in his eyes. “I -“

He raises a single hand towards Steve, tremulous, and that’s all the prompting Steve needs. He crosses the room in three great strides, sitting on the bed next to Tony so he can tug Tony into his lap. Dimly, he is aware of Rhodey rising to his feet, going to join Pepper in her low murmurs, but all he can really focus on is Tony, loose and warm and in Steve’s lap. He tucks his face into Steve’s shoulder, hands clutching hard at Steve’s shirt, and, God, it’s not that Steve didn’t realize how fucked up this was already, of course, but for Tony to breaking down like this, this  _publicly -_

“Oh, sweetheart,” he hears himself say, as Tony trembles and shakes in his arms. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry but I’ve got you, I’m here, now.”

Tony chokes out little rasping sobs that sound like they’re being torn from his throat. “My mama,” he manages finally, words half-muffled by Steve’s sweater. “My mama is dead.”

Steve’s heart wrenches in his chest.  _Mama,_ Tony had said, like a child, like a little boy who got lost in a crowd and is searching for his way home.  _Mama._

“Oh, god, I know,” Steve says, because there’s nothing else he can say. “I know, sweetheart, shh. Shh.”

“I want my mom,” Tony cries.

“I know,” Steve says, pulling Tony a little closer. Tears burn at the backs of his eyes, but he fights them back, blinking hard. It’s not his place to break down here - Tony’s the one who’s just lost everything, lost his entire family in one fell swoop at the painfully young age of seventeen. “I know, I know. Shhh.”

The room is silent apart from the sound of Tony’s sobs.


	132. Live Dissection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s only when they’re wheeling him into the operating room that Tony realizes, oh, wow, I am fucking terrified of surgery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by this post: http://anthonyfuckingstark.tumblr.com/post/150998816311/man-sometimes-i-think-we-forget-just-how
> 
> hurt/comfort, PTSD

Tony developed a lot of aversions after Afghanistan: a fear of the dark, a terror of water, a burning panic that climbs a little higher with every degree on the thermostat. Most of his fears of of mundane, every-day obstacles, and so he’s forced to face them pretty quickly. It sucks, to say the least, but it is efficient; after all, exposure therapy is the best way to treat anxiety, according to both WebMD and the therapist Tony went to for one horrendous session and never saw again. Within a few months, the worst of Tony’s PTSD has abated, and by the time the Avengers move into the Tower, Tony genuinely thinks his irrational phobias are gone.

Then, almost six months after the Battle of New York, Dr. Doom attacks New York in what is rapidly becoming a weekly occurrence. It wouldn’t be an issue, except one of his stupid robots gets in a lucky hit, and Tony gets sent to surgery with a four-inch bar of rebar sticking out of his stomach.

It’s only when they’re wheeling him into the operating room that Tony realizes,  _oh, wow, I am fucking terrified of surgery._

It’s a surprising realization, because Tony has had surgeries before. Once, when he was eight, and fell off the roof trying to test out rocket-powered boots, and needed a pin put in; once, when he was sixteen, and his appendix decided to be a little bitch and burst halfway through his Physics exam; and again when he was twenty-one, for a long-awaited vasectomy. Never before has fear, whether of needles or hospitals in general, ever posed an issue.

Of course, that was before he woke up with Yinsen’s hand in his mangled chest, installing an invasive metal weight that to this day aches and tugs on Tony’s insides.

He doesn’t realize he’s hyperventilating until a nurse lays her hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Stark,” she says carefully, her voice light and young and entirely unlike the terrorists rough shouts. “Everything is going to be all right, you just have to breathe, okay?”

Tony wants to, he really does, but he can’t. All he can think about is how Yinsen’s deft hands had felt inside his chest, moving organs and cutting bone, the warmth-eeking feeling of blood seeping from his body and the knowledge that he was going to die here, in this shitty little tent, in this burning fucking desert -

“Go get one of his friends,” the nurse says to someone outside of Tony’s sight range, and then she’s back, eyes wide and focused entirely on him. “Hey, Tony, can you tell me where you are?”

“New York,” Tony rasps, because he knows that, this isn’t a flashback, this is - 

Terror.

“That’s good, that’s very good,” the nurse reassures him, touch light and warm on his shoulder, and it’s not reassuring at all. Yinsen, too, had careful hands, but careful hands doesn’t fix all wrongs. What if Tony wakes up in the middle of surgery again? He knows they have anesthetic here, that’s not the problem, but they mess up measurements on that kind of thing all the time, and God knows they’ll probably be treating him with kids gloves, worried about his arc reactor or his high blood pressure or whatever the fuck else goes into medical calculations like this.

“I can’t do this,” Tony hears himself say, as if from a great distance. "I just - I can’t.”

“Now, Mr. Stark, just try to take a breath here -”

“Tony?”

Tony almost jolts up from his gurney at the familiar voice, but then the rebar twinges in his abdomen and he remembers what he’s doing here in the first place. “Steve.”

“Hey,” Steve says, coming forward so he displaces the nurse at Tony’s bedside. His voice is soft and reassuring that way it only gets when he’s  _Steve_ and not  _Captain America._

“I don’t think I can do this,” Tony manages, around the swell of panic swallowing his chest. “This is - what if I wake up while they’re still working on me? I can’t do that again, I can’t.”

Steve, bless him, doesn’t press, or ask what Tony means by  _again,_ though his brows do give a little furrow. Instead, he just gives Tony’s hand a reassuring squeeze, and says, “Well, I hate to break it to you Shellhead, but you can’t live with a piece of rebar stuck in your stomach forever.”

It’s a good point, but Tony’s anxiety doesn’t really care. “Are you sure?” he asks. He probably sounds like a whiny child, but he doesn’t care. “I already live with this hunk of metal in my body, I could add a second.”

Steve’s lips quirk up, but he doesn’t laugh. “Sorry, but I think this is a little bit different,” he says. “But it’s okay, because you’re not going to wake up during surgery. These are the best surgeons in the world, Tony, they’re going to make sure you’re just fine.”

 _Best surgeons in the world._ What does that mean, really? Yinsen wouldn’t have been on that list, if he was still alive, but Tony thinks he was the only person who would or could have performed the arc reactor surgery. Doesn’t that make him one of the best surgeons in the world? And still that operation fucked Tony up enough that now he’s seriously considering living with a closet bar in his abdomen.

Steve must see Tony’s thoughts, somehow, in the expression on his face, because he squeezes Tony’s hand a little tighter. “How about this,” he says. “You trust me, right?”

Tony manages to gather his wits enough to raise an eyebrow. “You’re not a surgeon, Steve.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “No, but I do have super senses. If you don’t trust the doctors, trust me. I’ll keep an eye on you, be able to tell if you’re waking up. And if you are, I’ll make sure the anesthesiologist doses you.”

Tony considers. It’s a strangely compelling idea. Logically, Tony knows that Steve being in the room really wouldn’t change anything, and, honestly, he might just get in the way, and yet -

The knot in Tony’s chest eases a little bit.

“You’d do that?” he asks. “Make sure I - make sure they dose me, even if they don’t want to? Even if they say it’s not safe?”

“Even if they say it’s not safe,” Steve says. “I promise, Tony, I’ll make sure you don’t wake up.”

Tony takes a breath, as deep as he can manage with rebar sticking out of his organs. He takes another. “Okay,” he says. “Don’t leave me.”

“Never,” Steve promises. He stays by Tony’s side the whole way into the operating room, and right up until the anesthesiologist asks Tony to count backwards from 10.  _10, 9, 8, 7 -_

The last thing Tony sees, before he drifts off, is Steve smiling down at him.


	133. Man's Best Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hi,” Tony says, offering the woman behind the reception desk a winning smile. “I’m here to volunteer - is that a puppy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship, non-powered au

Tony’s not even supposed to be at the dog shelter.

Apparently, he’s actually supposed to be at the children’s hospital, meeting and greeting whatever weird kids apparently think a green energy inventor is super cool. Unfortunately, Tony’s got a new PA, and he doesn’t get the text informing him of the mix-up until he’s already in the shelter’s waiting room, dressed in sweats and a ratty, pink Captain America t-shirt that’s entirely unsuitable for a public appearance around children. So instead of wasting an afternoon in a shower and a taxi, Tony decides,  _fuck it,_ reschedules his hospital appearance for the next day, and heads up to the desk anyway.

“Hi,” he says, offering the woman behind the reception desk a winning smile. “I’m here to volunteer - is that a puppy?”

The woman blinks at him. She looks surprised, but Tony can’t tell if it’s because she’s meeting Tony Stark or if she’s just confused by the sudden change in topic. “Uh, yeah,” she says, and undertone of  _duh,_ in her voice. And Tony supposes that’s fair, because it is fairly obvious: they’re at a dog shelter, and there’s a tiny little squirmy body nestled in her lap, half-wrapped in what looks to be a hand-knitted blanket.

“Are there other puppies here?” Tony asks. He’s not exactly an expert on the shelter, but he’s visited a few times, and never before has he seen a dog without at least a few white hairs in it’s snout. All the rest of them seem to get adopted out before Tony gets a chance to see them.

“No, just little James, here,” the receptionist says. “But if you’re interested in adoption -“

“Oh, no,” Tony says quickly, “My husband would kill me if I got a dog without talking to him first, it’s just - why hasn’t anyone adopted him yet?”

The woman’s smile flickers sadly. “Poor little guy had a bit of a genetic mutation. He’s missing a leg.” She holds up the puppy to demonstrate, and sure enough, tucked below his tiny head is one curled paw and one little stump.  

“And, what, that makes him unworthy to adopt?”

The woman shrugs. “According to some people, unfortunately. You want to hold him?”

Tony should say no; he knows he should. He opens his mouth to say so, but instead, what comes out is, “Yeah, give him here.”

The puppy is warm and lax and soft, little body lolling in Tony’s arms. His fur is soft, ears almost velvety, and his eyes - god, they’re just like Steve’s.

“How much is the adoption fee, again?”

-

Two hours later, Tony’s pulling up in the Stark Tower garage, car filled with dog beds and dog toys and dog food, his little puppy sitting on the seat next to him.

Tony parks slowly, careful not to send the little pup sliding. “Well,” he says, finally clicking the car into gear. “Welcome home, bud.”

The puppy looks over at him and gives a little yip. Tony smiles.

“Yeah,” he says. “You’re gonna love it, I promise. We’ll get a new leg fixed up for you and everything.”

The puppy yips again. Grinning, Tony reaches over to pick him up cautiously, so he can cradle him against his chest. For a moment, he considers trying to get some of the bags from the backseat, but he figures they’ll be time later, and he leaves them.

“Okay, now what are you thinking, titanium or aluminum for your prosthetic’s pylon? We could use an alloy, I know, but I was just thinking -“

“Excuse me, sir,” Jarvis interrupts, just as Tony is stepping into the elevator. “Captain Rogers is asking for you. He appears to have made dinner for the two of you.”

And - oh. Tony looks down at the puppy in his hands, then up at the camera where Jarvis is watching him from. Looks back down at the puppy. “Um. I probably should have told Steve about this, shouldn’t I?”

“Probably,” Jarvis agrees. “But you know what they say. Better late than never.”

Tony sighs. “Take us up, Jay,” he orders. If he’s nervous, butterflies twisting in his stomach - well, the soft ball of fluff in his arms does a lot to alleviate the concern.

Sure enough, when Tony steps onto his and Steve’s shared floor, he’s greeted with the smell of spicy marinara sauce, and the sound of something bubbling. “That you, sweetheart?” Steve calls from somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Tony says. “I, uh, actually have something I wanted to talk to you about, real quick -“

“Is it about the puppy you adopted today?”

Tony - stops. He’s still in the living room. Steve is nowhere within eyesight, at least not that Tony can tell - how the hell does Steve know already?

“What?”

“The puppy,” Steve says again. “Come into the kitchen, honey, I’m tired of yelling.”

Tony blinks, but finds himself obeying. Steve is standing over the stove, stirring something in a boiling pot, but when Tony enters he wipes his hands on a towel and turns around.

“Hi,” he says, ducking forward to give Tony a quick kiss. “And  _hi,”_ he says, this time to the little puppy in Tony’s arms. He scratches under his chin with a single finger. “Aren’t you just the cutest thing ever?”

Tony wants to coo and melt at how adorable this picture is, but he’s still stuck on the  _how_ of it all. “How did you know I got a puppy?”

Steve shrugs, dropping a kiss on the puppy’s forehead before returning to the stove. “You texted me and said you wouldn’t be at the hospital because you’d accidentally gone to the shelter by yourself. I figured something like this would happen.”

Tony’s not sure if he should be offended that Steve finds him so predictable or touched that Steve knows him so well. He would be weirded out that Steve knew what Tony would do when he himself didn’t know - but, then again, Steve’s always known Tony better than he’s known himself.

“His name is James,” Tony says, finally, at a loss for what else to say.

At the stove, Steve wrinkles. “I don’t know if I like that for a dog,” he says.

“Me either,” Tony finds himself agreeing. “I wouldn’t want Rhodey to think I named him after him, after all.”

Steve laughs. “True. Plus my platoon leader in Iraq was named James, and that’s - really not an association I want to have with our puppy.”

 _Our puppy._ Tony has to bite back the ridiculous urge to smile. Of course it’s their puppy - “what’s mine is yours” and all that jazz - but still.  _Our puppy._

“Freddie,” Tony offers. “Ringo. Furry.”

“No, no, and definitely not,” Steve counters. He pulls bowls from the cupboard and starts filling them with what Tony now sees is pasta, veggies, and sauce. “What about Max?”

“Boring,” Tony dismisses. He takes his seat at the kitchen table, keeping the puppy cradled carefully against his chest. “Armageddon.”

Steve makes a face at Tony as he makes his way over to the table, a bowl in each hand. “We’re not naming our dog Armageddon.”

“Well, we can’t name him a human name, either,” Tony argues. “Dogs with human names belong to snobs.”

“Oh, snobs like a billionaire inventor and his artist trophy-husband?”

“Yeah, exactly like those people, if we give him a human name.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but drops the topic obligingly. “Well, let’s just think about it. What does he look like?”

Tony looks down at the puppy in his arms.  _Cute,_ is the first thing Tony thinks, but it’s not like they can exactly call him  _Cutie McCuterson._

“What about Bucky?” Steve offers suddenly. “I think that’s a good name. Cute, sort of human but sort of not, a little scruffy.”

“Bucky.” Tony considers it. As he does, the puppy gives a little wiggle, ears flopping as his forehead scrunches, and, yeah, Tony can totally see him as a Bucky.

“I like it.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks.

“Yeah,” Tony confirms. “It sounds like the name of a menace, and I can tell he’s going to be one already.”

Steve grins. “Probably. He is ours, you know.”

“Yeah,” Tony agrees, offering his own smile. “He is ours.”

Bucky yawns.


	134. Happier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re not happy with me, are you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst, established relationship, breakup
> 
> inspired by happier by Marshmello ft. bastille - listen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RE87rQkXdNw

“You’re not happy with me, are you?”

The question comes in the middle of dinner, while Tony is busy trying to sop up the mess Steve made of his knocked-over water glass with his thin cloth napkin, and seems to take Tony entirely by surprise.

“What?” His hands still on the table and his eyes lock with Steve’s. “Why would you say that?”

Steve offers him his best smile, but it comes out sad and wobbly. “Because you’re not,” he says. “Are you?”

Tony looks like he’s fumbling for words. “I - I’m not  _unhappy,”_ he manages eventually.

 _Not unhappy._ That’s the bar Tony’s set for himself, the level of satisfaction he thinks he deserves to achieve in life.  _Not unhappy._ It would break Steve’s heart, if it wasn’t already broken.

“But you’re not happy, either,” Steve says, and this time doesn’t bother to phrase it as a question. He knows - he had known before tonight, if he’s being honest with himself. Had known before this awkward little dinner, an entirely lacking conversation, Tony’s badly repressed frustrated flinch when Steve had, once again, made a mess of them at a nice restaurant. Had known from the very first time Tony sat through a movie with Steve and didn’t make a single smart-assed joke, the first time Tony went away on a business trip without calling home once, the first time Tony huffed and put down his blowtorch and said, with that horrible tight little smile, that he hated to be an ass but would Steve mind leaving the lab for a little bit, Tony needed to concentrate and Steve’s dialogue with Dummy wasn’t really helping to achieve those ends.

Tony’s been slipping away from Steve for months now. Not to say that it’s Tony fault, it’s just -  _they’re_ slipping apart. They don’t fit together anymore, not the way they used to, not the way that makes both of them better and happier human beings. Steve still loves Tony with all his heart, of course he does. That’s why he has to let him go.

Tony blinks at Steve from across the table. His eyes are particular wide and particularly dark, tonight, in this dimly lit little French restaurant, and Steve thinks they might be a little wet, too. Then again, that just might be a gleam from the yellowed little light hanging over their table.

“What are you saying?” Tony asks.

“I’m saying this isn’t working,” Steve says, and it feels like the words are torn from his throat but he pushes on. “A relationship is supposed to make the people in it happy, and you’re not.”

Tony blinks at him. “That’s it?” he presses, and Steve is surprised to hear a wobble in his voice. “I - you don’t think I’m happy, so we’re over?”

“I didn’t say that, Tony,” Steve says. “I just - it’s not fair to you, for us to go on like this. I don’t - I don’t want to be the thing that makes you unhappy.”

“You don’t,” Tony says, reaching over to clasp Steve’s hand where it lies on the still-wet table. “Steve, you don’t make me unhappy.”

“But I don’t make you happy.”

Maybe Steve shouldn’t be so stuck on this. Maybe he should let Tony brush this off, and they could go on with their meals, argue about dessert and whether it’s worth it to get a taxi home, and tonight they’d go to sleep in the same big, empty bed, maybe touching but probably not, if the last few weeks are any measure to go by. In the morning, Steve would wake up first, and maybe he’d give Tony a chaste kiss or an affectionate pat before he heads out on his morning run, and that’d be that. They’d go on with their lives.

But how long would it take before Tony’s  _not unhappy,_ turned into worse? How long would it take for that to spiral into the hopelessness and depression Steve knows in a constant theme in Tony’s life? How long would it take for this sometimes-animosity to turn into genuine hate, until Steve and Tony couldn’t so much as stand to be in the same building together, let alone sleep with each other. How long until everything falls apart?

Tony seems to be thinking along the same lines, because, for once, instead of arguing, he just sags in his seat. “We don’t need to break up,” he says, sounding like he’s trying to convince himself more than Steve. “We could do - couple’s therapy, or something.”

“If I thought that was what you wanted, I’d do it in a heartbeat,” Steve says. It’s true. “But I don’t think you want that.”

And that, it seems, is also true, because again, Tony doesn’t argue.

For a long moment, neither of them say anything. Tony is watching their hands, clasped together; Steve gives Tony’s a squeeze.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Steve says, voice wet and thick. He does his best to try for another smile. “Really, it is. Sometimes things weren’t meant to work out.”

Tony shakes his head. A curl breaks free and falls over his forehead, and Steve has to resist the urge to reach out and tuck it back into place. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Steve says. “It’s not your fault, really. I -“  _I love you,_ “I care about you, and I want you to be happy. Even if that means things are a bit rough for a while.”

“But not forever, right?” Tony looks up to meet Steve’s gaze, eyes suddenly desperate. “This won’t be forever, right? We can - we can be friends again? After this?”

Just the thought has Steve’s heart burning in his chest, but what can he say? No? Any bit of Tony in his life is better than nothing.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Steve agrees, letting himself use the name one last time. “We can be friends.”


	135. Fault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:
> 
> what if tony looked up to steve one day and asked "why do you hate me so much?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst, post-infinity war, pre-relationship

“Why do you hate me so much?”

Steve looks up from his newspaper, blinking. For a moment, he thinks he must have misheard. Why would Tony say something like that, after all? He must know it nonsense.

And then Steve sees the expression on Tony’s face. His eyes are wide, cheeks pale and quickly reddening, like that was the last thing he himself expected, or wanted, to come out of his own mouth.

“Shit,” he says, before Steve has a chance to begin to formulate a reply. “I - forget I said that, that was stupid -”

 _Yes,_ Steve thinks with some relief,  _it was -_

“I know why you hate me, obviously, this is my fucking therapist’s fault, always trying to get me to say the bullshit I’m thinking -”

And, okay, what?

“Tony,” Steve interrupts. “I don’t hate you. Why on earth would you think that?”

Now it’s Tony’s turn to blink. “You - what? Yes, you do. I’m stupid, and selfish, and don’t think about anybody but myself, and Ultron was my fault, and the Accords were my fault, and Thanos was my fault, and I’m the reason half the world is dead -”

“No, Thanos is the reason half the world is dead,” Steve says firmly. “It’s not - God, Tony, it’s not your fault, is that really what you think?”

Tony just stares at him.

Steve shakes his head, furious, suddenly - at himself, at the other Avengers, at Tony’s therapist, for not seeing this and fixing it immediately. “You did everything you could to stop him. You - you knew he was coming, and you tried to warn us. We were the ones who ignored him. If anything, it’s our fault.”

“That’s -” Tony looks like he’s fumbling for words. “But I’m the reason we broke up in the first place. If I hadn’t fucked up so many times, maybe you could have trusted me, maybe -”

“I fucked up, too, you know,” Steve says. Tony goes silent, and Steve sighs, averting his gaze down to his hands. “I know I haven’t said anything, and I’m sorry for that, but - I’m sorry, Tony. I really am. I should have - I should have done a lot of things differently, you don’t need me to tell you that. And you, you were just doing what you thought was right. That’s not a bad thing.”

The kitchen is so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

“I mean, that’s not to say I’m not frustrated with how things went down. It all got - really fucked up, and I wish it hadn’t, and sometimes it pisses me off that it did. But that’s not on you - or, at least, not just on you. It takes two to fight, you know. And I know that this was at least as much my fault as yours.” Steve shakes his head, mustering up a smile as he looks up to meet Tony’s slack expression. “So, no, Tony. I don’t hate you. Not at all.”

For a long moment, Tony just stares at Steve without saying anything. Steve is starting to wonder if he’s crossed a line, if he should leave, give Tony some space, when Tony swallows hard, clearing his throat. “Okay,” he says, voice raspy in that way it gets sometimes, in the mornings. Steve can remember dozens of times he brought Tony coffee in his workshop and was greeted with that same rough tone, Tony exhausted and dirty after who knows how many hours working, but shining with that accomplished energy of a job well done. Steve had thought he’d never get back there, but maybe - well. Maybe.

“Okay,” Steve says.


	136. Unstable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world blurs around him, running together like water, and all he can hear is that voice inside his head: he’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst, character death - NOT steve or tony, hurt/comfort

The thing Steve always thinks back on later is that first moment after he heard the news. He wishes he could say he had felt immediately devastated, heartbroken or numb, but in truth, the first thing he felt was a sharp, swinging relief. It was gone as quickly as it had come, and followed by the earth-bending grief and guilt that Steve had expected, but it didn’t change the fact that it was there. Because even if only for a second Steve couldn’t help but think: well, at least it’s over now. At least the pain and anticipation has ended. It’s done.

“He died peacefully,” the nurse says. She’s young, looks fresh out of college and into the real world, and Steve would wonder how she deals with a job as toxic as this one if he wasn’t so caught up in his own burning guilt and pain.

“Can I see him?”

The nurse nods, not quite smiling, but the lines of her face soft and warm regardless. “Yes, of course. Follow me.”

It takes an inordinate amount of effort to haul himself out of the plastic hospital waiting room chair, but Steve manages. He tries to focus on the path the woman guides him down, if only so he can remember how to get back here later, but he can’t seem to focus on much of anything. The world blurs around him, running together like water, and all he can hear is that voice inside his head:  _he’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead._

When he steps into the room, the first thing he sees is a shock of red hair.

“Nat,” Steve says.

She doesn’t move from her perch at Bucky’s bedside. She’s leaned over his bed, one hand clasped in his, the other spread over his now-still chest. His eyes are closed, but his body is left uncovered, not yet swallowed by the coroner’s sheets. Steve appreciates it. Even with Bucky like this, body pale and greying, he can imagine it, for a moment: that Bucky is not dead but sleeping, that he will wake in the morning and this will have been nothing but a bad dream, and they will be twenty-two again, huddled together in their shitty army-issue tent in the Swiss Alps, joking about Coney Island.

“He made it to a hundred and twenty seven,” Natasha says, her voice quiet but steady. “I should probably be glad about that.”

Steve tries to muster a smile, but can’t quite manage it. That was Bucky’s recurring mantra over the past few months, as he got sicker and sicker, the knock-off serum in his blood destabilizing and seeding tumors that sprung up in his bones and blood and under his ribs, like a crop of vicious flowers.  _Well, I did make it to 127, you know. That’s a lot longer than most people get._ Never mind that he was only awake for a fraction of those years, that he was used as a slave for most of them.  _127,_ Bucky always said, and nobody could ever find it in themselves to argue with a dying man’s last attempt at optimism.

“Get over here, Rogers,” Natasha says, after another few, long moments pass and Steve doesn’t move from the doorway. “He would -“ she cuts herself off, voice going suddenly hoarse. There’s a pause before she speaks again, once more controlled. “You shouldn’t do this to yourself.”

She’s probably right. Normally, he’d ignore her anyway, but right now, he doesn’t want to be the reason she breaks down sobbing beside her dead husband’s body, and he can all too easily see her fragile strength dissolving in that way. So he steps forward, and again, and again, fighting against every urge of his body to flee, to take his place at Bucky’s side.

It’s harder to pretend he’s sleeping, up close; up close, he really does just look dead. He looks away from the tired lines of his face, and down at Bucky’s free hand, which he clasps in his own. He regrets it almost immediately, the skin tacky and already cooling, but he can’t bring himself to let go. He feels tears burning behind his eyelids and forces them back.

He feels, strangely, like he should say something, but he’s already said his goodbyes, not half an hour ago, now.  _Say hi to Ma for me,_ Steve had said, when Bucky’s breathing had grown staggered and the doctor’s had told them, with pinched expressions, that this was the time.  _And Winnie, too. Give them all my love._

Bucky had smiled, as best as he was able around the oxygen mask on his face.  _Will do,_ he had rasped.  _Punk._

Steve had smiled, watery.  _Jerk._

Now, he wonders why he hadn’t said more: why not  _I love you,_ or  _I’ll miss you,_ or  _you’ll always be my best friend._ For the longest time, Bucky was, quite literally, all Steve had: his friends, his family, his backbone and his heart. They’ve moved on since then, found their own respective lives and partners and meanings, but - still. Nothing can erase that.

“Sweetheart?”

Steve startles at the sound, jerking up to face the door, and, oh, there he is. Tony had been on a business trip, when they got the news; he’d hopped on a jet as soon as he heard, but even then, he couldn’t make it back in time.

But now, here he is, bruised with exhaustion and what Steve expects is more than a little grief. Tony and Bucky had been close to, in their own way. Sure, usually their hangouts involved a lot more arguing and insults than Steve was used to, and no, they were never nearly as codependent as Steve and Bucky, but still. Bucky didn’t belong just to Steve.

“Hey,” Steve rasps when he finally remembers to speak. “I’m - sorry, you just missed him.”

 _Just missed him._ It sounds like something you’d say if someone showed up at the door looking for someone, and they’d just run out to the grocery or the pharmacy, something you’d follow up with,  _sorry for the inconvenience, he’ll be back soon._ As if that were possible.

Tony offers Steve the barest hint of a smile, circling the room to come stand beside him. He lays one hand on the small of Steve’s back, a silent support, and Steve has to stop himself from swaying into it. “That’s okay. He knew everything I wanted to tell him, anyway.”

_Why didn’t I tell him I loved him?_

“You think?”

Tony just looks at him. “Yeah, honey,” he says, pressing a little firmer on Steve’s back. “Trust me, he knows.”

Steve nods, a jerky thing, and looks back down at Bucky’s body. Nat is quiet at the other side of the bed, staring at Bucky’s face with an unseeing gaze. Steve aches for her, and he aches for himself, and he aches for Tony and the rest of the Avengers, and most of all, he aches for Bucky.  _I love you,_  he thinks, as clearly as he can manage. Surely the dead can read thoughts, and if they can’t, well -

Tony’s right. Bucky knows.


	137. Sappy as a Maple Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gets fed up with Steve and Tony's sappiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship, outside POV

“I love you,” Steve says, giving Tony a kiss before he heads off to work.

“I love you,” he says again, settling a plate of sandwiches on the work table beside Tony’s half-finished project.

“I love you,” he says, catching Tony’s hand as he passes the salt over the kitchen table and pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

“I love you,” he says, when Tony all but climbs on his lap halfway through movie night to pluck at a wayward eyebrow hair that’s bothering him and, good god -

“Will you stop it already?”

Sam’s voice is loud and rougher than he intended, but he just can’t  _help_ it. He had endured it at first, thinking it was just the honeymoon phase, that they would get over the sappiness and move on to being regular human beings, but -

“The constant sappiness is sickening. Literally, I don’t think I can handle it anymore. Next thing I know you’ll be telling him you love him when he goddamn  _burps,_ and I get it, yours is the love that overcomes all else, but I really do not need to hear about during the middle of a fucking pirate movie, okay?”

Steve blinks at him, eyes wide and surprised.

“Okay,” Sam says again, when it seems no other answer is forthcoming, and settles back into his recliner. The room is quiet, someone - probably Bruce - having muted the TV at Sam’s outburst, and Sam can practically feel the eyes on the back of his head. He doesn’t care.

“Go ahead and press play,” he says, after another few moments of quiet pass. “I think they get the point.”

“Now, wait a second,” Tony says, finally speaking up. Sam turns in his chair to raise an eyebrow in Tony’s direction. “You can’t dictate what we do, Wilson. This is a free country.”

“It’s not decent,” Sam says, partly because it’s true and partly because he knows it’ll get Steve to flush that pretty pink he always gets when he’s embarrassed.

Sure enough, Steve blushes. “It’s not - I’m just telling him I love him,” Steve says.

“Yeah, thirty times a fucking day,” Sam points out. “Believe me, he knows, okay? You don’t need to tell him  _that_ often.”

Tony huffs. “Well, this is my house, so we can do what we want. If you don’t like it then you can go sleep on the street, I think I saw a nice cardboard box in the alley behind the Tower this morning.”

Sam opens his mouth to snap back, but before he can, Steve is speaking, hand rubbing circles on Tony’s hip. “Hey, it’s okay, I can be a little less sappy if it’s bothering them that much.”

“Thank you,” Sam sighs. “Really, I love love and all that, but there’s a line where it gets to be too much, you know?”

Steve nods, still red, but looking determined, now, too. “If it’s bothering you guys, we’ll try to stop.”

Sam smiles at Steve. “Thanks, man,” he says, and he’s about to turn back to the TV, sure this is over, when -

“Tony,” Bruce says slowly, “Are you pouting?”

Tony’s lip furrows out a little bit more at his question and, oh, god, he is. “No,” he mutters.

“Oh, Jesus take the wheel,” Sam sighs, already able to tell where this is going.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Steve asks, voice so soft Sam almost can’t hear him.

Tony shrugs. “Nothing,” he says, his own voice quiet. “Just, you know - I kind of like it. The sappiness.”

And Steve just - melts. “Oh,  _honey,”_ he says, and it’s even more sickening than the constant ‘I love yous’. Sam thinks he might baby barf in his mouth. “I don’t have to stop if you like it.”

Tony perks up a little bit, and, God, that manipulative bastard, Sam is  _sure_ he knows exactly what he’s doing here. Sam’s gonna send Redwing to fuck up his lab. “Yeah?”

“Of course, honey,” Steve promises, leaning in to give Tony a kiss that Sam thinks he probably intended to be chaste, but turns out long and disturbingly wet-sounding. “I love you.”

Tony smiles down at him. “I love you.”

“Well, that lasted two second,” Sam sighs.

Steve gives him an apologetic glance. “Sorry, Sam.”

Tony just smirks.


	138. Milkbone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes you are,” Tony says seriously, as though he’s speaking to another adult and not a three-year-old canine. “You are the best dog in the whole wide world. And the sweetest. And the cutest. And the fluffiest. Yes, yes you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship, pet parenting

“Are you the best dog in the whole wide world?”

Tony voice is soft enough that any normal human’s ears wouldn’t be able to pick it up from this distance, but Steve’s not a normal human. He sets his water bottle down on the kitchen table and creeps over to the doorway, peeking around the edge.

Tony is sprawled out on the living room carpet - the one he had said was “not suitable for a dog, Steve, this is a Persian rug, I don’t need some mutts fluffy hair clogging it up” - rubbing Dodger’s belly vigorously with one hand. The other he has tucked behind Dodger’s ears, scratching him in the spot that makes Dodger whine and purr like a kitten.

“Yes you are,” Tony says seriously, as though he’s speaking to another adult and not a three-year-old canine. “You are the best dog in the whole wide world. And the sweetest. And the cutest. And the fluffiest. Yes, yes you are.”

Dodger wriggles happily under the petting and praise, head rubbing against the carpet in a way Steve knows will leave a chestnut-colored hairball behind. Tony doesn’t even seem to notice.

“And I know you’re not supposed to have treats, anymore,” Tony says, hand slipping off Dodger’s chest to slip into his pocket. Dodger whines and does a barrel roll, but quiets as soon as he sees what’s in Tony’s hand - a little Milkbone, the exact sort of thing the vet had said they should stop giving Dodger if they wanted him to stop knocking vases off tables with his hyperactivity.

“But you’re such a good boy,” Tony continues, smiling in that soft little way down at Dodger’s now-wide eyes. “So I decided I’d break the rules a little bit. Don’t tell your dad, all right?”

Dodger gives a little snuffle, as if in agreement, and, grinning, Tony spreads his palm flat. Dodger licks up the bone with a loud slurp and a subsequent snap, crushing it between his jaws. Steve knows it isn’t consistent with how physiology works, but he could swear the sugar kicks in immediately; right away, Dodger is bouncing on the balls of his feet, tail wagging so fast Steve can’t even track it as he munches on his treat.

“All right, boy,” Tony laughs,  patting Dodger’s back. “Try to calm down a little bit, or you’re going to give us away -“

Dodger doesn’t seem to care. Bone effectively devoured, he abandons his post at Tony’s side and starts skittering around the room. It’s only a matter of time until he catches Steve’s scent, and he barks happily, running up to him in the doorway and shoving his face between Steve’s thighs the way he does when he wants ear scratches.

“Hey, boy,” Steve greets, smiling despite himself. He gives Dodger the demanded ear scratch, but it doesn’t last long before Dodger’s wiggling too hard to stay still and is off again, doing loops around the kitchen table and back into the living room to circle the couches.

Tony, meanwhile, is watching Steve guiltily. “Hey, love, lovely, oh husband of mine.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Really? You’re gonna try that?”

Tony waffles. “How long have you been standing here?”

“ _Are you the best dog in the whole wide world?”_ Steve says, pitching his voice higher in a horrible facsimile of Tony speaking.

Tony squawks indignantly. “I don’t talk like that!” he protests. “I am a manly man, I have a man’s voice, very deep and timbrey and whatever other words are used to describe voices -“

Steve rolls his eyes, but he can’t even bite back his smile long enough to maintain the pretense of annoyance. “Sure, honey,” he says. “That’s why the delivery guy yesterday thought he was looking for a woman -“

“It’s not my fault the package said Tonya!”

“Whatever you say.”

Tony just glares at him. “You’re dead to me, Rogers,” he says. “Just. Dead. Dodger, come here, show me those guard teeth, I need you to kill your dad.”

Dodger woofs and runs into the back of the couch, sending him sprawling flat onto his ass.

Steve grins. Tony sighs.


	139. Farmer's Market

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old married Steve and Tony go to the farmer's market together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship

“Do we need any carrots?”

Tony glances over from the salsa booth. They’ve got forty-seven different flavors, and today, he’s trying number thirty-one. Raspberry Jalapeño: it’s not as good as last week’s Cilantro Peach, but it’s pretty good.

“Uh, no, I think we still have some leftover from last week.”

Steve continues to frown down at the pile of dirt-encrusted, organic carrots. “Maybe I should get some more anyway,” he says. “Just in case. I think Bruce said he might want to make a roast on Tuesday.”

Tony waves a hand, turning back to his salsa. “Whatever you wanna do.” It’s not like he’ll miss the extra few dollars, and, besides, Steve makes sure nothing goes to waste in their house, no matter how old or disgusting. The perks of growing up in the Great Depression.

“I was thinking we could get some rhubarb, too,” Steve says, as he starts slinging carrots into his little canvas bag. Tony had gotten him it for Christmas; it’s got a little cartoon Iron Man on it, shooting rainbow-colored lasers out of his repulsors. “I haven’t had a rhubarb pie in a while and it’s about to go out of season.”

Tony nods. “We should get some peaches, too, then,” he says, pulling out his wallet so he can fork over a couple bills to the salsa vendor. “You know Sam’ll bitch if we only make rhubarb.”

“Oh, Sam will bitch?” Steve snorts.

Tony shrugs, offering Steve a grin. “I might like some peaches, too.”

Steve smiles. “Well, all right then. We should stop by Rosa’s booth on the way out, I noticed she had some good looking peaches on display when we were walking in today -“

“Steven Stark-Rogers,” Tony interrupts, pressing a hand over his heart in his best impression of a Shakespearean heroine. “Were you oogling another woman’s behind?”

It takes Steve a second to get it, but when he does, he just rolls his eyes. Years ago - when they were younger, and this was newer, and Steve was more shy - Steve would have blushed and stammered out a response, but now, Tony has to work a lot harder to see that pretty pink flush. “ _Another_  woman? You trying to tell me something, Stark?”

“Stark-Rogers,” Tony corrects, like he always does, even after all these years.

“That’s a mouthful,” Steve says, but doesn’t protest when Tony sidles up to his side.

“So am I.” This time, Steve doesn’t roll his eyes, just gives Tony a long, considering look. “Come on,” Tony says, after a moment’s pause. “Finish up with your carrots and I’ll give you a little taste.”

“But the peaches -“

“The peaches can wait,” Tony says, and kisses him.

The peaches wait.


	140. Home to Roost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony wakes, as he so often does, to the sound of the rooster losing his fucking mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship, retirement

Tony wakes, as he so often does, to the sound of the rooster losing his fucking mind.

“Ugh,” Tony groans, flopping over so he can bury his head in Steve’s armpit. Unfortunately, even Steve’s dense muscles don’t do much to block the damn bird’s shrieking. “We’ve got to get rid of that fucking thing.”

Above him, Steve sighs, hand settling on Tony’s back and beginning to stroke small circles. “It’s his home, Tony,” he says. It’s what he says every morning, sleep-tired and lazy because  _he’s_ never woken by the thing.  _I grew up in the 1920s,_ he likes to tell Tony, when he boggles.  _We didn’t exactly have soundproofed walls, then._

Tony, on the other hand, is used to a state of the art Tower with a state of the art Jarvis and state of the art sound blocking technology, and so for him, this is a little harder to swallow. “Everyone has to move on sometime,” Tony tries. “Just look at us. Gotta find a new home, you know?”

Because they had. Being an Avenger - it was and always will be the greatest accomplishment of Tony’s life, but after so many decades of suiting up and getting beaten to shit, it just came to a point where Tony’s body couldn’t take it anymore. He was nearly sixty years old, with a history of heavy drinking and heart problems. When Tony’s doctor, four months ago, had pressed that Tony really, really should consider retirement - well, he ran out of reasons to say no.

He’d be thinking about it before then anyway. He was just so - tired, nowadays. Always torn between work and missions and updating equipment, he felt like he barely ever got to see Steve anymore, and more than anything else, that stung. He wanted as long with Steve as he could possibly manage, and sure, he wasn’t exactly about to give up Iron Man - he  _was_ Iron Man, full stop - but he didn’t always need to go punch a sea monster in the face when he was suited up. Sometimes, he could suit up, and just - be.

When Tony had told Steve, he had almost been concerned - what if Steve was resentful? - but Steve had just kissed him, and hugged him, hands shaking on Tony’s spine.  _Yes,_ he had said, voice shaking.  _Yes, please._

Which led them here, to this dusty little farmhouse in the middle of bumfuck, nowhere Nebraska, farther from civilization than Tony would have deemed desirable and kind of absolutely fucking perfect.

Aside from the rooster. “He would taste good for dinner,” Tony says, when Steve seems unresponsive. “I know how you like frugality, and there’s nothing more frugal than that, living off the land and the wizened old farm creatures the old owners left behind - Steve?”

Because Steve isn’t listening anymore. Instead, Steve is snoring _-_ grip fallen lax around Tony’s back, the whiskers on his beard ruffling with his heavy breaths. Tony feels vaguely outraged. He was mid-argument, here, he deserves  _attention,_ and that damn bird is still hollering outside like the world is coming to an end, and Steve -

Is  _sleeping._

“Good god, we really are getting old.”

Tony considers waking Steve for a moment before deciding against it. It’s not worth it - he can always share his opinions with Steve tomorrow morning, after all, or maybe just take this opportunity to go out to the henhouse with an axe and behead the nuisance chicken.

Or maybe not. The bed is soft and warm, after all, and Steve is all floppy that way he gets when he’s sleeping, and Tony’s kind of reluctant to give this up for the sharp, cold air of five a.m.  _Tomorrow,_ he thinks, nestling himself back into Steve’s side. The yelling of the rooster is annoying, but if Tony focuses, he can almost tune it out, listening instead to the steady, heavy thrumming of Steve’s heart.  _I’ll take care of it tomorrow._

He drifts off to sleep.


	141. Tits & Bacon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: stevetony + mornings + nonsexual intimacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship

Tony wakes to the press of something warm and wet against the back of his neck.

“Mmh.” He shuffles, rubbing his cheek against the soft cotton of his pillowcase. “Steve?”

There’s another kiss, this time a little higher. “Who else would it be?”

Tony gives a half-shrug. “Well, I’ve got the harem of mistresses, you know. Could be one of them.”

“Mmmh.” Steve kisses him again, and again, little pinpricks of wet warmth that make Tony shiver. “Would probably be able to feel my tits if that was the case.”

Tony grins into his pillow. “Oh, your tits are plenty big, honey,” he says, reaching one arm behind him to grope at Steve’s chest blindly. Steve huffs, smacking his hand away. “I’ve said it before but I’ll say it again, you could be a lingerie model.”

“Maybe in my next life,” Steve says, and if Tony weren’t so tired, that would make him perk him more than it does.  _Later,_ Tony thinks.

Steve continues kissing his way up and around Tony’s neck, one hand settling low on Tony’s belly. Tony had never considered himself that small before Steve, but now, seeing how one of Steve’s hands can easily cover him, the way his fingers wrap so easily around Tony’s wrists, whole body enveloping Tony like a big, heavy blanket - well. It makes Tony rethink his assessment.

“You better not do that without me,” Tony says, as Steve starts sucking a hickey on the underside of his jaw. “If I’m not there with you in the next life, no lingerie allowed. New rule.”

Steve huffs, a puff of warm air against Tony’s jaw. “Dumb rule.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because you’ll be with me in the next life,” Steve says simply. Tony’s heart clenches in his chest, and he reaches down to splay his hand over Steve’s, feeling the familiar calluses and lines under his palm.

“Good with me,” Tony says.

Steve hums again. “Good.” He presses one more kiss to Tony’s neck, and then he’s pulling back and throwing off the covers, making Tony groan and wince away from the wave of cold air.

“Kill me,” Tony groans, burying his face fully into his pillow. “I wanna sleep.”

“Well, I want bacon,” Steve says, from somewhere over on his half of the room. There’s a shuffling sound like he’s throwing on clothes, which is disappointing, though Tony can’t really blame him in this chill. “If you get out of bed, I might be persuaded to make you some.”

And  _that,_ that makes Tony perk up in a way even the promise of Steve in lacy underwear couldn’t. “Real bacon?” he asks hopefully. “Like, fatty pig bacon?”

“Fatty pig bacon,” Steve confirms, taking his robe down from the hook off the back of the door and wrapping it around himself. It’s a ridiculous thing, fluffy and pink and patterned with PowerPuff girls, for whatever reason, but as Steve always says, it’s soft, and as Tony always privately thinks, it always smells like Steve.

“Fuck yeah,” Tony says, and heaves himself out of bed. Steve laughs as Tony immediately curls in on himself, but before he can bring himself to regret his decision Steve’s there with Tony’s much more sophisticated silk robe, wrapping it around his shoulders.

“Come on,” Steve says, pressing a kiss to Tony’s cheek. “If you help me make the eggs I’ll let you have an extra cup of coffee.”

“Oh, so generous,” Tony says with an eyeroll. Still, when Steve reaches out to clasp Tony’s hand in his own, Tony doesn’t protest, just follows along after him.


	142. Chicken or Fish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I got an invite to Sam’s wedding yesterday,” Steve mumbles, after Tony thinks he’s already fallen asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship

“I got an invite to Sam’s wedding yesterday,” Steve mumbles, after Tony thinks he’s already fallen asleep.

“Oh, yeah?” It’s a bit of a non-sequitur - the last thing they were talking about was how good Steve’s dick felt in Tony’s ass - but, whatever, it’s been a hot second, it’s not that weird that Steve’s mind wandered.

“Mmm,” Steve hums against Tony’s shoulder. “Next June, down in Georgia. I think it’s at an orchard or something.”

“That’s nice,” Tony says, still a bit confused as to why Steve is bringing this up, and bringing it up now. “I mean, it’ll probably be a million degrees and Wilson’ll sweat right through his tux, but still.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. He wriggles a little against Tony’s back, hand sliding up Tony’s stomach towards his chest. “Anyway. I can’t remember the exact date right now, but I could send the details to Pepper if you want?”

Tony’s heart gives a little jolt. “What do you mean?” Tony thinks he must be misinterpreting this - it must be his exhaustion, the dim light in the room.

“Well,” and Steve sounds a little more careful, now, a little less sure. “I just meant - I know weddings aren’t fun, and if you don’t want to go I won’t blame you, but I just thought, if you were interested -“

“You think we’ll be together in June?”

There’s a pause. Tony can feel the line of Steve against his back, still, now, and a little rigid. “I mean, yeah. I know - I don’t mean to pressure you, or anything, but, uh. Yeah.”

Tony’s heart is beating ridiculously fast for someone laying flat in bed. Slowly, he raises a hand and settles it on top of Steve’s, warm and rough under his palm. “I don’t have any problem with that,” Tony says.

It sounds stupid, not a strong enough response to Steve’s words, and he thinks he should say something else but before he can, Steve is speaking. “Okay,” he says, voice back to its normal warmth and ease. “I’ll RSVP for two, then. You want the chicken or the fish?”

It’s all so stupid and domestic, Tony finds himself muffling a smile in his pillow. “Whatever you’re getting,” he says.

“Okay,” Steve agrees. There’s a light pressure on the back of Tony’s neck as Steve kisses him. “Chicken it is.”

Tony smiles.


	143. Guard Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think your dog is broken.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship

“I think your dog is broken.”

“Our dog,” Steve corrects automatically, before the words actually register and he glances up from his crossword puzzle. “What?”

Tony’s laying on the couch in the exact same position he’d been in when Steve had gone down to get the bagels an hour ago. He’s propped up by half a dozen pillows, and has pretty much everything within arms reach that he could possibly want - coffee, blankets, tablets and the remote control. He’d asked for some welding equipment this morning, too, but Steve was pretty sure he was joking - even Tony wouldn’t be stupid enough to try to try major mechanical work when he’s got a hole in his side.

“He’s broken.” Tony waves a hand at Dodger, as if that encompasses his whole point. In reality, it just makes Steve more confused. Dodger doesn’t  _look_ broken - he’s just curled up on the carpet beside Tony’s feet, head resting on Tony’s knee, and sure, maybe that’s not exactly  _characteristic_ behavior of him but it’s not like he’s hanging off the ceiling or something.

“I don’t follow,” Steve says.

Tony huffs. “He’s being all -  _weird,_ with me. Look, come over here, try to sit next to me.”

So Steve does. Dodger gives him a look when he gets close - raising his head from Tony’s thigh to squint at Steve carefully - but after a moment, he seems to decide it’s fine and plops his head back down.

“Ugh,” Tony says, as Steve settles down without a fight. “I should have known he wouldn’t do it to you. Clint! Birdbrain, come in here, I need to make a demonstration!”

“I am not getting attacked by that dog again!” Clint hollers back, voice echoing from somewhere across the communal floor. “It’s possessed and I don’t fuck with demons!”

“Do it or no new bow for you!”

There’s a pause, and then, after a few moments, Clint appears in the doorway, grouchy-faced and grumbling. “If it takes my finger, I’m suing you, Stark.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, go on, show Steve what’s wrong with him.”

Clint approaches them slowly, an expression on his face not unlike the first time he’d approached a pissed-off Hulk. Steve has no idea what’s going on, but he knows Clint is being dramatic - it’s just  _Dodger,_ for God’s sake, he wouldn’t hurt a fly -

Except then Clint gets a step too close, because Dodger jolts, jerking up off Tony’s thigh to snap at Clint viciously. Clint yanks his hand back, stumbling back a few steps, but still Dodger growls at him until he retreats fully into the doorway. Only then does Dodger lower his head back down to rest on Tony’s thigh, big eyes still glaring at Clint in the doorway, as if watching him for further threatening behavior.

“See?” Tony says, when Steve gapes at Dodger instead of saying anything. “He’s broken!”

“That’s not nice, Tony,” Steve says, even though privately, he kind of agrees. He reaches out, settling a careful hand on the back of Dodger’s neck and stroking gently. It seems to get Dodger to settle a bit, because his eyes finally flick away from Clint and back to Steve. “What has gotten into you, boy? You know we don’t snap at people.”

Dodger gives a sound that from a human might be a huff and rubs his chin against Tony’s thigh.

“He’s been doing this for the past hour,” Tony says. “I don’t know how to explain it, it’s literally everyone who walks in here - he tried to bite  _Natasha,_ for god’s sakes, he’s lucky she has a soft spot for puppies or he’d be disemboweled on the floor right now -“

“Natasha wouldn’t hurt Dodger,” Steve dismisses.

“Yeah, well, yesterday we both thought Dodger wouldn’t hurt Natasha, but clearly we were wrong.” Tony sighs, bringing his own hand up to settle on the top of Dodger’s head so he can scratch behind his ears. “I’m telling you, Steve, something’s off with him.”

Steve frowns. “That’s - hmm. I mean, is there anything that could explain this? Like, what he ate, or what someone did -“

“I didn’t feed him any extra treats, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Steve raises his hands innocently. “Hey, did I say that? I didn’t say that?” Except yeah, okay, maybe he was thinking it.

Tony rolls his eyes like he knows exactly what’s going through Steve’s head and turns his attention back to Dodger. “Do you think we should take him to a vet?”

“Oh my god, you guys are idiots.”

Immediately, Dodger’s head jolts up, and he starts growling. Tony just rolls his eyes, keeping his hand firm on Dodger’s head in an effort to keep him from sprinting away and outright attacking. “Thanks so much, Nat, you’re the sweetest.”

She rolls her eyes, leaning heavily in the doorway which, it seems, Clint has at some point vacated. “He’s worried about you,” she says. “This is the first time you’ve been in actual mortal peril since you adopted him. He can probably smell it on you, or something.”

Tony makes a face. “Really?”

“Makes sense as to why Steve can get by him, too,” Natasha notes. “He trusts him.”

“Aww,” Steve says, giving Dodger’s back a thorough scratch. “You trying to protect Tony, boy?”

“He’s not gonna answer you, you know,” Tony says, but he’s got a considering look in his eye, almost soft.

“I think he already has,” Steve says. “Actions speak louder than words, you know. He was willing to face off against  _Natasha_ for you, Tony. I think that’s true love.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “You make it sound like some twisted interspecies love affair,” he complains, but he starts scratching Dodger’s ears again.

“Why’s your daddy always gotta make things weird?” Steve asks Dodger, shaking his head. “He always makes it weird, huh?”

Dodger snuffles, rubbing up against Tony’s leg again.

“That’s okay, though,” Steve continues, in that same soft, high voice he uses around fluffy creatures and tiny babies. “We love him anyway, don’t we?”

Dodger woofs softly, and Steve grins.

“Yeah, we do.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “All right, all right, we get it, just - just give me a bagel, I’m hungry.”

If Tony gives Dodger a few extra ear scratches that day, a couple especially thorough belly rubs, well - nobody needs to know.


	144. Operation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets shot full of shrapnel, and needs a surgery to fix it. Unluckily, anesthesia doesn't work on him. Luckily, Tony's there to make things a little better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship, hurt/comfort
> 
> commission for laricina

When Steve was a kid, he used to cry for his mommy a lot. He grew out of it eventually, but from the ages of two to seven, pretty much any time he got so much as a bruised knee he’d start crying for Mama so she could kiss it better. Which wasn’t unusual - that’s a pretty standard thing for kids to do.

Still, you grow up and move on, and parents die, and you have to learn to stand on your own two feet. And Steve now is more than capable than dealing with pain. Or, standard pain that is - pain like a punch to the jaw or a broken finger or a stab wound to the stomach. Not something like this - these doctors, rooting around in his abdomen while he lays here, fully awake and un-sedated, trying not to scream.

“Hey, it’s okay, Stevie, just try to breathe.”

Bucky is here, and that’s something. But Steve feels like a kid all over again, because all he can think is  _Tony, Tony, Tony._ He wants Tony here, with his warm eyes and gentle touches and that way he makes any room safer and more welcoming just by his mere presence.  _I want Tony,_ he thinks,  _Tony, Tony, Tony._

He doesn’t realize he’s said as much until Bucky sighs. “I know,” Bucky says, looking sympathetic. “I know, and he’s coming, okay? He’ll be here soon.”

Steve has to resist the urge to grip the table edge. He fists his hands instead, so his nails are digging into his palms. It’s a tiny pain, compared to that in his abdomen, but it’s just sharp enough to distract him.  _Tony,_ he thinks,  _think of Tony,_  Tony in the morning, spread-eagled over Steve’s chest; Tony with pillow-creases on his cheeks and engine oil in his hair and a Star Wars bandaid on his forehead; Tony

sleepy and Tony excited and Tony trying to make breakfast, Tony doing loops in the Iron Man armor, Tony the day he had proposed, kneeling next to their bed, a blue velvet ring box clasped in his shaking hands.

“Just try to breathe, Stevie, okay? It’ll be over before you know it, just -“

From the hall, there’s the sudden sound of something crashing. Steve tenses automatically, and one of the surgeons swears as, presumably, he cuts something he wasn’t meant to cut. Steve can’t tell the difference - it’s all burning pain to him.

“- my  _husband,_ move or I will move you!”

 _Tony._ The relief that washes through Steve is so staggering that he has to close his eyes and take a jagged breath. Tony is here. Everything will be fine.

The door to the OR doesn’t really burst open, but it seems like it. Steve tilts his head back as much as he can and watches, upside down, as Tony charges into the room, wearing a blue smock and a scrub cap. His expression is hard to read upside down, but Steve thinks he looks worried.

“Steve,” he says, the moment his eyes land on Steve, and then he’s coming around so Steve can look at him properly. He reaches for Steve’s hand, and Steve grips it with as much strength as he dares. Suddenly, there are tears in his eyes, and he has to swallow hard to speak around the lump in his throat.

“Tony,” he croaks. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” Tony says, leaning down to press a kiss to Steve’s forehead. Steve closes his eyes, and Tony stays there, bent over him, his free hand coming up to cup Steve’s jaw. “Everything’s going to be okay now, all right? I’m here.”

Steve takes a deep breath, and the smell of Tony’s cologne begins to overpower the sterile scent of hospital. “Okay,” he says, and Tony presses another kiss to his forehead, one to his cheek.

“That’s it, sweetheart, just try to breathe,” Tony says, voice measured and level. “It’ll all be over before you know it.”

Steve breathes in and out. Tony’s here, Tony’s here, and this pain is just temporary, this burning searing sting -

“Hey, look at me.”

Tony’s voice is firm but not harsh: warm, soft even, the only soft thing in the room. Steve forces his eyes open and finds Tony’s gaze.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Tony reassures him. His eyes are warm, his eyelashes long. One of them has fallen onto his cheek. Steve’s first instinct is to reach up to brush it off, but of course he can’t do that right now, not when he’s strapped down to an operating table as doctors search through his guts for the microscopic shrapnel remains of an exploding bullet.

One of the doctors moves something, or brushes something, and a burn of pressure-pain shoots up Steve’s abdomen to his chest. He can’t hold back a groan, but he manages to keep his body from twitching. The last time, he’d managed to move his restraints just enough that he shifted under the doctor’s knife and she ended up cutting through a minor artery.

“Just look at me,” Tony reminds him, and Steve does. “Let’s talk about something else, okay, honey? What do you want to talk about?”

Steve swallows hard. “Tell me a story,” he manages, and Tony nods, reaching forward with one hand to brush the hair away from Steve’s forehead.

“Okay,” he says. “That’s easy. Did I ever tell you about the trip Rhodey and I took to pick out your engagement ring?”

Steve tries to think for a long moment, but nothing comes to mind. “No,” he says finally, and Tony smiles.

“Oh, it was quite a trip,” he says. “Rhodey actually made me swear never to tell you, but given the circumstances, I think he’ll forgive me. Okay, so, picture this: we’ve been dating all of eleven months, and I am I ridiculously, hopelessly in love with you. And I tell Rhodey I’m going to propose to you, thinking he’ll try to stop me like he always stops me when I’m about to do something stupid. But instead, he just says he thinks it’s a good idea. But he doesn’t trust me to pick out a ring that’s not ridiculously ostentatious - which, good call, I almost got you a diamond the size of your fist. But anyway. He insists he come ring shopping with me, and -“

Steve lays back on the table, letting the sound of Tony’s voice wash over him. In the background, there’s the cold clinical sounds of an operating room, but Steve is just able to tune into the story so he doesn’t hear it.

It feels like hours and hours later that the pressure on Steve’s abdomen starts to ease, and is replaced with the familiar tug and pull of stitches. Tony is still talking - the topic having drifted from the engagement ring trip to the first road trip Tony and Rhodey took in college to Tony’s opinions on various Subway sandwiches. Now he’s babbling on about spider monkeys, however the hell he got to that topic, and though it’s not necessarily a relaxing topic it’s suddenly soothing Steve to sleep. The pain is gone, after all, or at least lessened to a level Steve is accustomed to, and he’s been up for almost twenty-four hours, on edge and in pain almost the whole time. He just wants to sleep.

He feels his breaths slow in chest, and he blinks his eyes once, twice, and doesn’t open them again. Tony’s got one hand in Steve’s hair, stroking calmingly, and Steve focuses on the feeling, the very gentle touch. “They’re really interesting animals,” Steve vaguely hears Tony say, “I should take you on a trip to see them, sometime, have you ever been to Costa Rica? Of course you haven’t. Whatever, it’s gorgeous, you’ll love it, there’s all these mountains and hot springs and jungles -“

Steve falls asleep imagining himself in a rainforest, water dripping gently down onto palm-sized leaves, Tony tucked up beside him, warm and strong.


	145. Color Theory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know what I fucking hate?”
> 
> "Exams?” Steve guesses, without looking up from his textbook.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> college au, fluff, established relationship

“You know what I fucking  _hate?”_

"Exams?” Steve guesses, without looking up from his textbook.

“Yes. And you know what’s  _wildly fucking unfair?”_

“Life?” Steve supplies.

“Life!” Tony gives a sound that can only be described as a harrumph and collapses into the chair across from Steve’s. Steve glances up from his book long enough to send the purple-haired librarian an apologetic glance - one she seems to accept, going by her sigh and return to shelving - before looking back down.

“I’m telling you, my fucking advisor is actually trying to kill me. He  _wants_ me to fail. He’s jealous of my genius, and he knows he can’t trip me up on the actual science of the fucking thing so he tries to catch me in all this bureaucratic nonsense, I swear to god, fucking  _Paul.”_

“Fucking Paul,” Steve agrees, flipping a page. 

Across from him, Tony sighs. Steve half expects his rant to continue, but Tony must be pretty tired, because it doesn’t. “So,” he finally says instead, “What are you working on? Anything exciting?”

“Nothing with nudity, if that’s what you’re asking,” Steve says, because that’s been a recurring theme in his and Tony’s relationship, from the very first time they met at the frat party and Tony had asked what Steve majored in.  _Art,_ Steve had said, and hadn’t even had a chance to elaborate on what  _type_ of art before Tony’s eyes were widening in interest, and he was saying,  _ooh, do you have nudes you can show me? I mean, nude paintings, obviously, though I wouldn’t be averse to the other kind._

Steve often thinks it’s a miracle they got past that point in their relationship at all.

“Shame,” Tony says. “Seriously, though, what it is?”

Steve shrugs. “Nothing you’d find interesting. Just stuff for my history of art class - color theory, the development of pigments in art, all that jazz.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, that sounds absolutely fascinating,” Tony says dryly. Steve offers him a wry smile, and in doing so, for the first time actually takes in Tony’s appearance. Steve’s suspicions that Tony is tired are definitely correct - his hair is greasy and astray like it usually is after a long night in the lab, and he’s got dark circles pressing in under his eyes - but he looks surprisingly soft, too. In the warm lights of the library, Tony’s messy hair looks almost like bedhead, the tired lines of his face softening his smile, and, most importantly, he’s wearing one of Steve’s sweaters. It’s far too big on him, sagging over his fingers, but Steve’s a cliche and there’s always a jolt of pleasure when he sees Tony dressed up as Steve’s.

For a long moment, Steve just stares at him, all thoughts of synthetic Chrome Yellow and ultramarine blue and everything else that isn’t the beautiful boy sitting in front of him fleeing from his mind.

“What?” Tony prompts finally, when Steve doesn’t say anything. His brow is furrowed, but he’s still smiling, and Steve knows him so well he feels like he could map out the next hour, week, month. It’ll be full of crazy shit - unexpected lab explosions, charred cooking disasters, spontaneous animal adoptions - but that doesn’t make it any less sure.

 _I’m going to marry this man,_ Steve thinks, with sudden clarity. He’s considered it before, but never like this, this pure, unadulterated knowledge _._ Steve’s going to marry him, and they’re going to grow old together, weird adventures and all.

“Nothing,” Steve says, offering Tony his best smile. “Do you want to go get dinner?”

Tony groans, a vaguely pornographic sound. “Fuck, yeah, I do,” he says, already climbing to his feet. “Can we get pizza? Please say we can get pizza.”

“We can get pizza,” Steve agrees. He stands, ignoring his books and pencils so he can lean over the table and pull Tony into a quick kiss. He tastes like coffee - he always tastes like coffee. Always will, probably. Steve’s okay with that.

“Let me just get my stuff,” Steve says when he pulls back, and Tony smiles and lets him go.  _Rest of my life,_ Steve thinks.


	146. Kiss Me, I'm Irish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: steve wearing a "kiss me i'm irish" button and earning kisses from everyone in the tower but mostly from a specific someone ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship, st. patrick's day

“You are the biggest cliche I have ever seen.”

Steve grins, pressing a hand to his chest in a fake swoon. “Aw, Buck, you say the sweetest things. Cheek?”

Bucky grumbles, but leans forward obligingly when Steve tilts his head and gives him a quick, wet kiss.

“Bit of slobber there,” Steve comments, leaning back and wiping at his cheek.

Bucky huffs and smacks Steve in the bicep. “Punk,” he says. “See if I make you any granola now.”

-

“Aren’t those things a little offensive?”

Steve glances down at the button on his chest and shrugs. “I mean, Irish people aren’t really discriminated against anymore, are they?”

Natasha tilts her head. “Point,” she agrees. “Well, I can’t say I’m usually one for sexually aggressive traditions, but who am I to resist a button like that?”

Steve beams and lets Natasha press a kiss to his forehead, vaguely mothering, smoothing back his hair as she steps away. “You really need to get some sort of gel in that if you want to look good for your boytoy,” she says. “I swear, it looks like a bird attacked your head.”

“Nah, just a pillow,” Steve says, taking a sip of his coffee. “Besides, he likes it. Says it makes me look soft or something.”

Natasha makes a face. “Wow, you two really are sappy.”

“I prefer deeply in love, but tomato, tomato.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “You up to spar later today?”

“Always,” Steve agrees, and any conversation about Steve’s grooming habits is lost under semi-playful, semi-threatening banter about Natasha’s various knives and Steve’s various soft bits. A normal morning, then.

-

Bruce is next, bestowing a distracted kiss on Steve’s cheek when he blows through the kitchen, wild-eyed and vaguely sooty, searching for coffee. “Didn’t think you’d get in the spirit,” he says, when Steve draws Bruce’s attention to the button. “You didn’t celebrate St. Patrick’s Day in the forties, did you?”

“We didn’t do a lot of things in the forties,” Steve points out. “Gay sex, for one. Doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy it.”

Bruce laughs and goes a little pink and makes his excuses. Steve lets him go; he figures he’s taken up enough of Bruce’s time this morning.

Then comes Thor, wearing LuLuLemon leggings and a flowing pink top he says was gifted to him by his friend Valkyrie. He’s also carrying a yoga mat.

“Ah, Maiden Rogers,” he says when he sees Steve. Steve grins and lets Thor take his hand like some blushing princess in a medieval fairy tale to press a kiss to his knuckles. “Care to join me for hot yoga?”

Normally, Steve would say yes - there’s little better that the kind of endorphins that get flowing after an hour sweating yourself half-to-death doing calisthenics - but he shakes his head. “Waiting for someone,” he says, nodding to the empty coffee cup beside his own.

“Ah.” Thor claps his shoulder. “Well, next time, then! Maybe you can get me one of those buttons - is there one for the Nordic?”

Steve’s halfway through explaining to Thor that, no, this is a strictly Irish thing - which is surprisingly difficult, when he can’t really explain  _why_ it’s a strictly Irish thing, or even when it came about in the first place - when Tony stumbles in. He actually looks - pretty well put together, Steve thinks when he sees him, which is surprising enough that he stops talking halfway through a sentence. He’s wearing jeans, nice and ass-hugging, and a dark emerald shirt that makes his skin glow. (Steve knows people say olive-skinned people shouldn’t wear green, but he thinks it’s bullshit, at least in this case; Tony would look good in a burlap sack, and that chest-hugging soft cotton - well.)

Thor must see his distraction, because he laughs and pats him on the shoulder. “I’ll ask Jarvis,” he says, and disappears before Steve can come up with a response.

“Hey,” Steve says, when he regains his wits. Tony sticks his head out from where he’s rummaging in the fridge to offer Steve a quicksilver grin. 

“Hey,” he says. “Want pancakes?”

“I definitely don’t want pancakes  _you_ made,” Steve says.

Steve can’t see Tony’s face, but he’s sure he’s rolling his eyes. “Well, duh, I’m not trying to kill you.” He rummages around for a moment longer before finally emerging with what he’s looking for - a little styrofoam to-go box, labeled with black marker,  _Steve’s, Do not eat!_

“That’s not mine.”

“Well, if I said it was mine, Bucky would have eaten it just to spite me. Here.” Tony flips up the lid, revealing Steve’s favorite breakfast - piles of crispy bacon, fatty chicken sausage, and perfectly round blueberry pancakes. Today, though, the pancakes are dyed a deep green; on the top lid of the container, in pretty green ink, is written,  _Happy St. Patrick’s Day!  
_

“Went to Martha’s last night,” Tony explains at Steve’s slack expression. “She was happy to make a breakfast at dinner for her favorite Irish customer. I considered going this morning, but they’re one of the most popular Irish restaurants in the area and I’m pretty sure we’d get mobbed.”

“You remembered?” Steve asks. It sound stupid as soon as he asks it - Tony has said, multiple times before, that St. Patrick’s Day used to be a favorite of his, what with the drinking and scantily clad women, and clear invitation to kiss strangers, and, yeah, maybe that was a reason Steve was wearing this button, so sue him.

But Tony just smiles. “’Course I remembered, it’s your first real chance to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day! We’re gonna paint the town green. Just let me microwave this, and get some coffee, and then I can show you everything I have planned for the day.”

Steve knows he’s probably giving Tony the heart eyes Bucky and Sam are always moaning about, but he can’t quite hold them back. “I love you,” he says.

“You, too.” Tony gives Steve’s ass a little pat and then turns to pull out a plate and some silverware.

“Did you see my button?” Steve asks after a moment, as Tony lifts pancakes from styrofoam to ceramic without showing any indication he’s going to give Steve a kiss.

Tony glances up at him. “No, what - oh.”

“Yeah.” Steve steps a little closer, and Tony meets him halfway, hand sliding up Steve’s harm to latch on to his bicep.

“Well,” Tony says, with a slight flick of his tongue over his lips. “Pucker up, my little leprechaun.”

Steve wrinkles his nose, but lets him kiss him. It tastes like luck.


	147. Burnin' Up (For You Baby)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not usually like this.
> 
> Usually, his heat comes in like a slow tide, edging into him over the course of hours or days until one morning Tony wakes up plastered to Steve’s side, skin burning hot with fever, hips shuddering forward. It’s not that it’s normally pleasant, or anything quite that romantic, but it is nice, to have an excuse to lay in bed with Steve for days on end and just feel. And it really isn’t too painful. Then again, that’s because Steve is usually there.
> 
> Today, Steve is not here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship, heat fic without sex, ABO

It’s not usually like this.

Usually, his heat comes in like a slow tide, edging into him over the course of hours or days until one morning Tony wakes up plastered to Steve’s side, skin burning hot with fever, hips shuddering forward. It’s not that it’s normally  _pleasant,_ or anything quite that romantic, but it is nice, to have an excuse to lay in bed with Steve for days on end and just  _feel._ And it really isn’t too painful. Then again, that’s because Steve is usually there.

Now, Steve is gone - off on a mission in Bumfuck, Nowhere, for all Tony’s been informed (and, okay, maybe he hacked the SHIELD servers a day after Steve left, and found out Steve was in Kyrgyzstan, but that’s not the point). Tony hadn’t even been meant to have a heat while Steve was away, mainly because they are so much worse alone. He’d only experienced one solo, before - his very first one, when he was a teenager, before he even knew he was an Omega. He spent almost a whole week locked in his room by himself, burning and aching and emptying the nonexistent contents of his stomach into a toilet bowl, and at the end of it, the first thing he’d done was get on repressors. Even in Afghanistan, his captors had managed to provide him that much, because an Omega in heat can’t work on weapons. An Omega in heat can’t do much of anything.

It wasn’t until he and Steve had been dating for almost a year that Tony felt comfortable enough to go off his suppressors and share his heat, but since then, he hasn’t looked back. There’s no reason to, really. It’s healthier to have natural heats than to rely on suppressors, and Steve never much seems to mind the spontaneous vacations.

Except Tony was stupid. He’s been off the meds so long that he doesn’t even think about resuming them when Steve goes away on his mission, even though Steve tells him it’ll be long term. He just had a heat a couple months ago, after all; Steve would have to be gone a while for it to actually become a problem.

But a while comes, and a while goes, and Tony, so preoccupied with the constant ache of missing Steve, doesn’t notice the burning tingle of heat until it’s too late. He takes his temperature, just in case it’s his imagination, but when he pulls the thermometer out of his mouth, sure enough the readout is blinking  _101_ in bright red letters.

Tony sighs. “Shit. Jarvis, prep the heat room, will you?”

“Certainly, sir,” Jarvis says, though Tony can detect a tinge of concern in his voice. “Should I try to get in contact with Captain Rogers?”

“No,” Tony says quickly. “It’s - he’s supposed to be on radio silence. It’s fine, I can manage a heat by myself.”

“Whatever you say, sir,” Jarvis says, and if he sounds dubious, neither of them mention it.

It takes two more days before Tony’s heat kicks in fully, days he spends doing paperwork and trying to make as much progress on this month’s Avengers upgrades as he can before he completely loses it. He gets a decent amount done, but not as much as he’d hoped, and he’s still trying to tweak some things on Steve’s armor when Jarvis interrupts him gently. “Sir, you have made and unmade the same change four times in the past hour. Perhaps it is time to take a break?”

“Oh, yeah, a  _break,”_ Tony says, but even muddled like this he can recognize that Jarvis is obviously right. Reluctantly, he flicks away the schematics and pulls up the Netflix queue. Most of it is stuff he’s been wanting to show Steve - old movies, cult-favorite TV series, and the occasional rom-com he insists Bruce must have snuck on there even though everyone knows that’s not the case. Tony scrolls past all those options and finally lands on some random comedy - about drunk college kids, he thinks, though he’s not sure because he pretty much falls asleep right away.

When he wakes, some indeterminate amount of time later, it’s to a full-fledged flame burning in his gut. Tony groans before he can bite it back, curling a little deeper into the fetal position he’s assumed in his sleep. He hadn’t made it to the heat room last night, which he’s sure he’ll regret in a week when all his furniture reeks of loneliness and pain, but it’s too late, now. He might as well make himself comfortable, so he abandons the idea of spending the week in a cramped little room and makes himself a little nest on the couch. It’s not much, considering it hurts when he so much as breathes, let alone walks around trying to find supplies, but it’s enough. Some snacks, a blanket, a few bottles of water and a TV - it’s more than some omegas get, Tony knows, and for that, he is grateful.

Still, it doesn’t change the fact that Tony’s in pain, and that pain isn’t letting up. A heat lasts a week, after all, Tony’s sometimes longer than that, and though Steve’s presence usually alleviates Tony of the usual painful symptoms, Tony never forgot what it felt like.

The day slips by and the sun dawns, and it’s the whole thing all over again, Netflix and water and bites of apple and cracker, the occasional beef jerky stick for protein. His thoughts blur and melt into a messy tapestry, until it’s hard to pick individual ideas apart from each other. The pain doesn’t necessarily lessen, but he gets used to it, and, hey, he’s done worse things.

Still, Tony jolts and stills when Jarvis, halfway through day number who the fuck knows, says, “Sir, Captain Rogers is in the elevator.”

Something swoops through Tony’s belly, warm and burning. “What?” he croaks, voice hoarse from disuse. He smacks his lips, once, twice, tries to formulate a coherent thought. “He - is he okay?”

“He is perfectly fine,” Jarvis says. “I have not yet informed him of your condition. Would you like me to?”

It’s not a hard question, and Tony should be able to answer, but he fumbles. Should he warn Steve? Probably, he thinks - there’s no point keeping it a secret, after all, Steve is going to be here in less than thirty seconds, and, okay,  _Steve is going to be here in less than thirty seconds,_ and that’s it’s own brand of happy that distracts Tony enough that he forgets to answer until the elevator dings.

The doors slide open and the scent of Alpha hits Tony like a riptide sweeping him away.

His breath catches in his throat and his knees feel weak. “ _Tony,”_  he hears, and then suddenly Steve’s there in front of him, hands hovering just over Tony’s shoulders, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch.

“Alpha,” Tony whines, closing the space between them to tuck his face in Steve’s neck, cling to Steve’s shirt.

“Oh,  _baby,”_ Steve whispers, and finally wraps his arms around Tony, his big warm hands splayed against his back, the smell of him covering Tony like a blanket.

“I missed you,” Tony mumbles into Steve’s skin. “Steve.”

“I missed you too, sweetheart.” Steve’s hands are rubbing big circles on Tony’s back, the tension melting away under his touch. “God, Tony, when did this start? Have you been hurting long?”

Tony shakes his head, but nestled so close to Steve, the movement comes out more like he’s rubbing his forehead against Steve’s shoulder. “Just a couple of days,” he says.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Steve says, pressing kisses to Tony’s hair. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

“’S okay,” Tony murmurs. Already, he can feel his thoughts returning to him, a clarity of mentality he’s missed these past few days. “You’re here now.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Yeah, I’m here, honey, and I’m not going anywhere. You want food? A shower? Tell me what you need.”

“Just you,” Tony says, nuzzling impossibly closer. “Maybe bed.”

“Good idea,” Steve praises. “Yeah, let’s get you to bed. Want me to carry you, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” Tony hums, and a moment later, Steve’s lifting Tony into his arms. Tony wraps his legs around Steve’s waist and settles in with a contented sigh. This is what he needed. This is what his body has been aching for these past few days, just this - his Alpha here and close enough to hold.

“I got you, honey,” Steve murmurs, stroking up and down Tony’s spine. “My gorgeous omega. I got you, I’m right here.”

“Alpha,” Tony hums. A moment later, Steve lowers him down onto soft sheets, following immediately after so he can tuck Tony to his chest, keeping his hands splayed across Tony’s lower back, where he always aches during heats.

“You feel good,” Tony murmurs against the skin of Steve’s throat.

“So do you,” Steve says. “You’re always so good for me, honey, such a perfect mate.”

“Mmm,” Tony sighs, breath ghosting over Steve’s collarbones. Steve has said before that he loves Tony when he’s like this - that he takes everything Steve says at face value, that he doesn’t second guess or argue or try to convince Steve that he’s wrong to love him. He just - agrees. It’s beautiful, Steve had said, that sort of easy pliancy, easy submission, the fact that it’s a gift Tony gives only to him, and Tony - well. Tony had been insecure, before, about just how soft and easy he gets during heats, but never again after that.

“Are you hungry?” Steve asks.

“Maybe a little,” Tony says. His grip tightens on Steve, then, and Steve pulls him a little closer in response. “But I don’t want you to go.”

“Oh, no, honey, I’m not going anywhere,” Steve promises, dropping a kiss onto the crown of Tony’s head. “But I haven’t set up provisions. I’ll just get Jarvis to do it, send Dummy up with them. How’s that sound?”

“Good,” Tony agrees. “I want blueberries. And Oreos. Double Stuffed.”

“Got that, Jarvis?”

“Got it, sirs,” Jarvis confirms.

“See? All set. Just relax, honey.”

“I’m relaxed,” Tony murmurs against Steve’s chest. “Real relaxed. Just gonna - gonna take a little nap…”

Steve hides his smile in Tony’s soft curls. “You do that. I’ll be right here.”

Tony sighs. He’s drifting off fast, body growing limp and slack against Steve, but he manages a soft whisper. “I’m glad you’re home,” Tony says.

“Me, too,” Steve agrees. He settles in place, hands splayed over Tony’s back as if trying to cover him entirely. “Go to sleep, honey. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Promises, promises,” Tony mutters. He thinks he catches the soft lilt of Steve’s laugh, but before he can tell for sure he’s drifted off to sleep.


	148. Cold Warm Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony feels it the moment Steve’s pulled from the ice. Oh, he thinks. My soulmate is here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for ishipallthings
> 
> get together, soulbound au

Tony knows the moment Steve’s pulled from the ice.  _Oh,_ he thinks _. My soulmate is here._

It’s disconcerting, to say the least. Not only because his soulmate’s initial feelings are something of a blur of  _what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck_ and a horrible, life-crushing grief. There’s also the small matter of soulmates usually being able to feel each other throughout their shared lives, which means Tony’s soulmate just started living. It’s confusing - because, what, is Tony’s soulmate a newborn, or something, and if so, what’s this horrible chest-ripping feeling of loss about? Either way, it’s fucked up.

Tony doesn’t tell Pepper. There’s no reason to, after all - he has no idea who this person is, if they are indeed a personand not a squalling baby, and either way, it’s not like Tony would leave Pepper for them. Soulmate or not, Pepper’s his family, and he’s not planning on giving that up any time soon.

But things get cleared up pretty quickly after Stuttgart. Steve’s feelings amplify as Tony gets closer until they’re practically screaming at him, so strong Tony swears he can almost hear his thoughts.  _Hello, honey,_ Tony thinks, and lands with extra force, guns blazing.

“Stark,” Steve says, like they’re just two strangers, not tangled in each other’s heads.

“Captain,” Tony replies, because he’s not going to be the softie here.

Everything after that happens fast enough that Tony doesn’t really have any time to think about it: the attack on the Helicarrier, the Hulk, Coulson’s death, and the Chitauri destroying the streets of Manhattan. Afterwards, they eat shawarma in a bombed out little restaurant, and for the first time Tony notices the glowing circle of warmth in his chest, just beside the arc reactor. He probes it for a long moment, wondering at the cause, before he realizes it’s not coming from him but Steve. Steve, slumped over the table, looking, for all intents and purposes, like he’s about to pass out into his pita. Tony wouldn’t expect him to be feeling anything but pure exhaustion right now, but it’s there anyway, a soft little hope.

 _Oh, Steve,_ Tony thinks, and is consumed with such burning sympathy that some of it must make it to Steve before Tony can swallow it back. He jolts up, eyes meeting Tony’s, and Tony has to duck away, back to his food, before Steve can say something Tony will regret hearing.

Still, the moment doesn’t leave Tony’s mind for the rest of the meal, and maybe that’s why, when they finally emerge from the restaurant, well-fed but still covered in muck and plaster dust, Tony clears his throat and says, “So, you know, the Tower has a lot of floors.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow at him. “Thought the residential part got destroyed.”

Tony waves a hand. “Eh, some of it,” he says. “Luckily, I’m a billionaire, so I can afford the renovation costs. Anyway, we have other floors, too  - supposed to be R&D, but they’re not set up yet. If anyone wants to stay, give me a buffer from the paperwork I’m sure Pep’s going to have for me after this, I’d appreciate it.”

Clint tilts his head. “Thanks, man, but I’ve got quarters at SHIELD. Probably nicer than a wreck right now. Call me when it’s rebuilt, yeah?”

Which Tony doesn’t take too seriously - it’s Clint, after all - but maybe he should have, because two months later, just after the newspapers announce the reopening of Stark Tower, he gets a call.

“Hey, Pep,” he says. “What’s up?”

“Why is there an archer in my living room?”

Which is how the Avengers come to stay. Clint is the first, but Natasha follows soon after, then Bruce, and then Thor, when he returns from Asgard. Steve is last and, yeah, maybe that’s because he and Tony still haven’t discussed this whole  _soulmate_ thing they’ve got going on, and, yeah, maybe that’s a bit of a problem, but, whatever. Tony makes up for it with a personal invitation - sent by mail and everything, on creamy, thick paper and sealed with a personalized wax stamp, something he thinks Steve should appreciate - asking Steve to  _pretty pretty please join the rest of your team of weirdos, I’m being overrun._

Steve shows up the next day.

“Hey, Tony,” he says, when Tony runs into him in the kitchen. He’s cooking, Tony thinks, something red bubbling in a big pot on the stove.

“Hey, Steve,” Tony greets, moving to rummage in the fridge.

There’s a brief, comfortable pause before Steve speaks again. “I just - I wanted to say thank -“

“What are you making?” Tony interrupts before Steve can get any further and be rewarded with the sort of spine-crawling heebie-jeebies that Tony always gets when someone tries to thank him. “Is it soup?”

“Uh, chilli,” Steve says, only sounding mildly thrown off by Tony’s interruption. “You want some?”

“What kind of question is that?” Tony asks, shutting the fridge door without grabbing anything. “Throw me a spoon.”

And if there’s something warm in Steve’s chest again - larger, more encompassing, bright in a way Tony’s emotions never seem to be - Tony doesn’t need to mention it.

-

Things just seem to - fall into place, after that.

Tony and Pepper break up a few months after the Avengers move in. It’s not exactly surprising, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. He locks himself in his lab for a week after it happens, spending his time drinking copious amounts of vodka and blackout engineering. It results in several world-changing patents, half a dozen new bruises from Tony stumbling into table edges, and a note stuck on the outside of Tony’s door on the third day.  _Let us know if we can do anything to help,_ it reads, in careful, old fashioned cursive that would make its author obvious even if it weren’t signed.  _We’re here for you._

It doesn’t make things better immediately, of course, but it does make Tony cut back a bit on the alcohol and make himself a smoothie. When he does finally emerge, the team is waiting for him in the living room, as if warned. They don’t say anything; Steve just raises his blanket and pats the spot on the couch next to him, lets Tony cuddle up into his side a little more than is appropriate and shares his bowl of popcorn.

It gets harder, after that, to deny this pull between them. Because there is a pull - unmistakable, like a twin heart leaping beside Tony’s own in his chest. Steve’s low sadness, pulling down Tony’s sternum when he’s trying to get work done in the lab; Steve’s joy as he easily dodges one of Tony’s sparring punches; Steve’s humor, loud and buoyant, so sharp it wakes Tony from sleep already grinning. It’s clearer when they’re together, when Tony is feeling the same things and he can pinpoint the source of Steve’s emotions and when the proximity makes the endorphins stronger, but it’s there, no matter the distance between them. It chases him, through sleep and work and rest and fun, and Tony grows so accustomed to it that he thinks, sometimes, very privately, that he would miss it if it was gone.

In characteristic Tony fashion, though, he doesn’t realize how true that is until, abruptly, halfway through a board meeting he realizes his connection with Steve has gone silent.

It’s disconcerting, to say the least. After so many months of constant stimulation, Tony’s chest feels cold and empty, his mind suddenly blank. He probes for the connection, hoping for even the weakest of responses, but there is absolutely nothing. It’s like someone has taken a scalpel to Tony’s chest and cut out the other half of his organs. Or, worse yet, as if someone has taken a scalpel to Steve.

Tony’s already halfway out of the building when he gets the call from SHIELD.

“I’m on my way,” he says, as soon as he picks up. “Send the coordinates to Jarvis.”

Hill, for once, doesn’t seem mad at his insolence. “He’s in Siberia on a mission,” she says, and there’s a sharp tug in Tony’s stomach as she continues, “We think he’s been captured by HYDRA. They may have placed him in some sort of artificial cryo freeze.”

“Jesus  _fuck,”_  Tony snaps, and hangs up on her. He calls the rest of the Avengers, instead, tapping into their comms. “Quinjet is waiting for you on the roof,” he says immediately.

“Taking off in five,” Natasha confirms, out of breath like she’s been running, and that’s that.

It takes an hour to get there - an hour too long, even though Tony knows he’s still ages ahead of the Quintet. With the coordinates Hill gave him, it’s not hard to find the facility; it sticks out, like a black rocky outcropping in a sea of white. “I’m here,” he tells the other Avengers as he circles the building, waiting for Jarvis to scan it. “Looks like there’s a couple hundred agents, here. It’s a big facility.” Too big for a one-man attack-  _far_  too big. What the hell was SHIELD doing, sending Steve out here alone?

“Copy that,” Natasha confirms. “We’re still two hours out. I’m guessing you’re going in solo?”

“What do you think?”

Natasha sighs, but she doesn’t sound annoyed, just exasperated. “Don’t get yourself killed trying to save him,” she says.”I don’t think he’d take very kindly to waking up to you dead.”

“Thanks for the advice, Widow, but I do know Steve pretty well.”

“I know you do,” Natasha says. “Go get ‘em.”

So Tony does. It’s a big facility, yeah, but Tony’s Iron Man; one blast of his gauntlet sends the front door shooting off his hinges, and it only takes a couple more to knock out the few guards at the entrance.

“You in the systems yet, Jay?”

“Yes, sir. I have looped the camera footage and located a room which might possibly contain Captain Rogers. It is in the basement, room 347. I will projected a map onto your HUD right now.”

It’s kind of ridiculous to be creeping around the facility like this - god knows subtly and subterfuge aren’t exactly Tony’s style, what with the giant red and gold piece of armor - but right now, Tony doesn’t care. All he can think about is Steve, the empty hole in his chest and the panic Steve would be feeling right now, if he could feel something, if he wasn’t frozen stiff.

It only takes five minutes for Tony to make it to the appropriate room, and approximately five seconds for him to bust down the door in a shower of sparks. And then, there is Steve - face glowing, rosy-yellow and vaguely cherubic even frozen stiff inside a cryotube, gems of ice dangling from each of his eyelashes.

“Shit, Steve,” Tony sighs, half relief and half pain, and comes forward to unlock the tube. It takes a bit more care, now - he’s not about to risk blasting Steve’s arm off in his eagerness to free him - but still, it’s not too long until the lock clicks and, with a hiss of air, the seal of the cryotube is broken.

The response is immediate. Steve’s skin flushes pink, and his limbs, previously so stiff, relax at his sides. It takes a moment after that, and then he’s blinking, eyes meeting Tony’s, and -

 _Oh._ There it is. Steve’s back in Tony’s chest where he belongs - filling Tony with confusion and panic and fear. Maybe it’s sad, but Tony honestly thinks it’s the best thing he’s ever felt.

“How long?” is the first thing Steve asks as soon as he can open his mouth.

“An hour,” Tony tells him, and is immediately swept with the sweet ache of Steve’s relief. “You’re good, big guy, everything is good.”

“Thank god,” Steve says, and tips forward into Tony’s arms.

He tucks his face, still freezing cold, against Tony’s jaw, and Tony pulls him close despite the fact that he’s still in the armor, and he knows it can’t be very comforting. “Hey,” he says, “Hey, I got you. You’re good, Steve. You’re here.”

Steve shudders against him, so small Tony wouldn’t notice it if he weren’t privy to the turmoil of Steve’s mind right now, and looking for it. “Yeah,” he says, voice hoarse against Tony’s throat. “Yeah, I know.”

They stand there a moment longer, and, yeah, it’s probably stupid, because they’re still in the middle of a HYDRA base with the door wide open behind them, but fuck it. Tony doesn’t care. He waits until Steve stops shivering so much, until he starts to pull back, and only then does Tony loosen his grip.

“Are the others here, too?” Steve asks. His eyelashes are wet, eyes a little red, but Tony’s not going to mention it.

“They’re on their way in the Quinjet,” Tony says. “We can meet them halfway, if you don’t mind using the Iron Trolley.”

Steve’s nose wrinkles when he laughs. Not for the first time, Tony thinks that it’s really fucking cute. “Iron Trolley it is.”

Tony debates sneaking them back out, then thinks,  _fuck it,_ and blows a hole through the door. Immediately, alarms start blaring, the room swept with flashing red lights, but it’s too late, now. Tony hoists Steve at his side and doesn’t wait for the arrival of the footsteps pounding towards them down the hallway; he takes off.

-

They meet the Quinjet somewhere over Europe, which is good, because despite Tony’s best efforts, Steve’s started shivering again from the altitude. Luckily, when they get onboard they find Bruce, unHulked, waiting with blankets and pillow and a steaming Thermos of what Tony thinks is tea. Steve accepts it all gratefully, letting them mother him with an uncharacteristic amount of pushback. It worries Tony, so he sits a little closer to Steve than usual and has Jarvis turn the heat regulator up a couple of degrees, just in case.

He doesn’t think Steve’s noticed until Steve, wrapping his blankets around his shoulders a little tighter, says, “Uh, hey, guys, could you give us a sec?”

Bruce raises his eyebrow - it’s a pretty small jet, Tony not sure where Steve thinks they’re going to go - but nods and pushes himself to his feet. “Sure.” He tugs Clint to his feet and heads towards the cockpit.

“Uh,” Steve says, after a long moment of silence. His emotions are hard to read right now, even for Tony. Some of that relief still lingers, but now it’s accompanied by something like anxiety, or nerves, and maybe even a little hope. “I, uh. Can’t help but notice you seemed a little freaked out I was frozen.”

“What?” Tony denies on automatic. “No. Who told you that?”

Steve raises an eyebrow at him. “Uh, soul bond?” he says, tapping at his chest. It’s the first time either of them have acknowledged it out loud, and Tony swallows hard, looking down at his hands.

“Right,” he says, but even he knows his voice sounds flat. “Uh. Yeah, maybe I was a little worried, you’re -“  _My captain,_ he wants to say automatically, but he forces himself to be honest. “You’re my friend. I was worried.”

“Just your friend?”

Tony’s head jerks up. “What?”

Steve’s eyes are wide and obviously hopeful, even if Tony hadn’t been able to feel it like the tide in his chest. “Are we, uh. Just friends?”

For once in his life, Tony is actually completely at a loss for words. “I, uh - I mean, I don’t know? Do you want to be?”

“Just friends?” Steve asks.

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Or, uh, more than that.”

“Yes.”

“Yes - what? Yes friends?”

“Oh, for god’s sake, you’re soulmates,” Natasha snaps from the cockpit. “Put us out of our misery and just kiss already.”

Tony’s heart leaps at the reminder that there are other people in the room - or Quinjet, semantics - but Steve’s obvious cautious joy keeps Tony from snapping down the faceplate and taking off.

“I mean,” Steve says, voice soft. “We could?”

 _I am going to ruin you,_ Tony thinks but doesn’t say. Instead, what he says is, “Fuck it,” and kisses him.

It feels twice as good from both sides.


	149. Something Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s Bucky,” Steve says. “He’s - he’s alive.”
> 
> For a moment, Tony’s mind is perfectly blank. Then the realization sets in. Oh, he thinks. So this is how it ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hurt/comfort, angst w/ happy ending, established relationship
> 
> for ishipallthings

They get the call halfway through a cake tasting.

“One moment,” Steve says, when he sees the number on the screen. “I’ll be right back.” He offers the baker a sweet smile, which has her melting into school-girl grin, and ducks away from the table. He’s only gone a minute, but as soon as he gets back, Tony knows something is wrong; Steve’s shoulders are stiff, hands clenched at his sides, and his eyes are wide and blank. Tony sets down his forkful of red velvet.

“Steve?” he asks, when Steve doesn’t say anything. “Honey, are you all right?”

“It’s Bucky,” Steve says. “He’s - he’s alive.”

For a moment, Tony’s mind is perfectly blank. Then the realization sets in.  _Oh,_ he thinks.  _So this is how it ends._

-

Things happen quickly, after that.

Happy comes at Tony’s call, and whisks them away to SHIELD. Steve goes to sit by Barnes bedside - Barnes, who apparently has been frozen in a cryotube these last seventy years, made to periodically murder and torture HDYRA enemies through that time frame. It’s weird, but it would be more so if their lives weren’t already a mess of supervillians and magic and aliens..

Tony, for his part, goes to speak to Fury. He gets a brief run-down on everything that happened to Barnes, plus access to his medical file. He takes it home with him to the Tower, where he gets Jarvis to work on preliminary designs for a better, updated prosthetic.

Then, he sits down and force himself to call the caterer, the tailor, the baker.  _I’m sorry,_ he says, with his best approximation of the pleasant tone of a man not about to break into tears.  _Some things have gotten moved around, the wedding has been postponed for the time being. I understand you’ll keep the deposit. Yes, I understand. Thank you for everything._

He makes his way through the entire list like that, before Jarvis finally interrupts him with a soft, “Sir, the initial designs are done fabricating.” Then he puts down the phone and picks up a tablet instead. It doesn’t matter what he feels. It doesn’t matter that he’s more heartbroken now than he’s ever been before in his life. It doesn’t matter that it feels like someone to a knife to his chest, to his heart. It doesn’t matter that, right now, he wants a drink more than he’s wants one in months, years. It doesn’t matter that he thinks if he lets himself stop, for once second, he’ll crack and break into his hidden stash and make his way through half a dozen bottles by morning. It doesn’t matter that, right now, that doesn’t scare him.

What matters is the work. There is always more work to be done. So he does it.

-

Steve stays at SHIELD for several days after that.

Tony only knows because Steve keeps sending him update texts - stuff like  _Buck’s doing better, seems to remember me a bit more today,_ and  _slept on the worst cot last night, you’d probably have cried._ In fact, Tony  _did_ cry the night before, but not because of the shitty quality of the cot he was sleeping on. The workshop cot is great, plush and expensive enough that Steve insists  _cot_ isn’t the right word for it, but, whatever. Steve can have his opinions. It doesn’t matter anymore, anyway; it’s not like he’ll be sleeping down here again.

The whole week Steve is at SHIELD, Tony pretty much exclusively stays in the workshop. He upgrades Barnes’ arm, then upgrades it again, then does some research into the shitty cryo-tubes HYDRA was keeping him in, to see if there’s any chance it caused permanent damage. Then he cycles through team upgrades - new Widow Bites for Natasha, new pants for Bruce, an upgraded shield holster for Steve - before setting to work on the StarkPhone upgrade Pepper’s been bugging him about for ages. Even once that’s done, there’s always the armors to work on, and it’s their blueprints that he’s examining when Jarvis announces that Steve has returned to the Tower.

“Is Barnes with him?” Tony asks. Just the question makes his chest burn, but he has to know.

Jarvis hesitates a moment before speaking, which is answer enough. “Yes,” Jarvis says. “They are in the common room meeting the other Avengers at the moment. Captain Rogers has just asked that you join them.”

And Tony - well. Yeah, he’s heartbroken. And yeah, he kind of wants to go fly to Malibu and drink himself into a stupor and then possibly never see the Avengers again, ever. But that’s not practical, and he knows if he doesn’t meet Barnes now, he’ll have to meet him later, and then it’ll just be even more awkward. It’s been a week, anyway; he’s never going to be more ready than this. Time to face the music.

“Hey,” Steve says, when he spots Tony in the doorway. He offers Tony a smile that Tony just manages to return. “I was wondering when I’d see you. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Barnes is scruffier than he was in the pictures. That’s Tony’s first thought. He’s got a beard, now, and long hair that reaches past his chin. His gaze is careful.

“Hey,” Tony says, giving Barnes his best grin. “I’m Tony, Tony Stark. You’ve probably heard plenty about me already.”

“A bit,” Barnes says, which really shouldn’t sting as much as it does. Tony holds out a hand for a shake anyway, and Barnes takes it. His grip is firm, but then, what did Tony expect - he is a super soldier, after all.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you,” Tony says, when Barnes doesn’t seem inclined to say anything else. “When you decide you want that hunk of metal off your body, come down to my workshop. I can give you a nice little upgrade.” He decides not to mention that he’s already designed and synthesized the thing, because even if Steve doesn’t want to marry him anymore, he probably still cares at least mildly about Tony’s well being, and anything that implies Tony’s been spending long nights in the ‘shop will make his nose wrinkle with concern.

 _Ha,_ Tony thinks.  _If only he knew._

“Anyway,” Tony says, when it becomes obvious that Barnes would rather examine Tony with half-squinted eyes than carry out a conversation. “I better get back to my workshop, got some delicate stuff in progress. Good to meet you.”

“You, too,” Barnes says, but he doesn’t look it.

“Hey, Tony -“ Steve says, and he moves as if to touch Tony’s arm but Tony dodges out of the way.

“Talk later,” he says, and offers Steve a grin he knows doesn’t reach his eyes. Then he’s gone, in the elevator headed back down to the blissful safety of his workshop, and he doesn’t have to think about the confusion that had flitted across Steve’s face.

-

Tony manages to stay out of the way of Steve and Barnes mostly successfully for the next week or so. Normally, Steve would be knocking down Tony’s door by now, but he’s probably preoccupied with Barnes, and so Tony’s workshop really is the safe haven it used to be. He tries to tell himself he’s not upset about that, and is mostly successful.

Still, even that can’t last forever, and eventually, Tony gets a knock on the door. “Captain Rogers is requesting entry,” Jarvis says. Tony considers, for a split second, denying him, but he wants to form a friendship with Steve, even if a relationship is no longer an option, and rejecting kind overtures isn’t the way to do that. He waves a hand, swallowing down the trepidation in his throat.

Steve enters the space just as casually as always, as comfortable and at-home as Tony is, here. “Hey, Tony,” he says, offering Tony a smile that seems mostly genuine. And why wouldn’t it be? He’s just got the love of his life back from the jaws of death. It’d be enough to put even Fury in a good mood. “You busy?”

“Just working on some armor upgrades,” Tony says, waving a hand at the dissected gauntlet splayed out in front of him. “Why, what’s up?”

“Well, I just had a quick question,” Steve says, leaning against the workbench beside Tony. “It’s not anything to panic about, but I was just calling the caterer to ask for a second copy of our invoice and she said that we’d cancelled? Which obviously can’t be right, so I re-booked her for the date, but I wanted to check with you to see if you knew what was up with that, if there was an accident or you decided to switch caterers and just forget to tell me or something.”

And here’s the thing: Tony doesn’t blame Steve for any of this. It’s not his fault that Bucky came back. It’s not his fault that he’d thought Bucky was dead, that he’d moved on after years of waiting in grief. It’s not his fault that it turns out it was all some big fucked up mistake, and Tony can imagine it’s difficult for him, too. Feeling like he betrayed Bucky. Feeling guilty for stringing Tony along, when he hadn’t even realized that’s what he was doing.

So Tony doesn’t blame Steve for the things that have happened recently. He’s upset about it, sure - of course he is, most of the time he’s about two seconds from breaking into tears and sobbing on the floor like a baby - but he doesn’t  _blame_ him. This, though - well, this is where that changes. Because this isn’t a mistake, isn’t something Steve can avoid. This is positively  _cruel._ Joking about the cancelled wedding, even knowing that Tony’s upset about it - that’s  _mean._

“I don’t appreciate this,” Tony says stiffly, and it’s such an understatement for how he actually feels -  _don’t appreciate,_ as if this is a minor inconvenience and not something that’s grinding the shattered remains of his heart into dust in his chest - that it’s almost funny. “You know, I get it, I get that it had to happen this way, but this is - this is unfair.”

Steve, damn him, just frowns. “What are you talking about?”

Apparently it’s a running gag, then. Tony’s blood boils a little hotter. “You know  _exactly_  what I’m talking, about, Steve, you don’t have to be an ass about it.”

Steve’s brow furrows a little deeper. “Tony, I promise you, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Tony huffs, whirling around so Steve can’t see the tears springing into his eyes. “The wedding, Steve,” he says, and, God, yep, there’s the wet tone in his voice. Tony should have known. He’s a frustrated crier - even if he wasn’t arguing about his cancelled wedding he probably would have burst into tears. “The fucking cancelled wedding.”

There’s a pause. When Steve speaks again, his voice is unexpectedly rough. “What? We - we cancelled the wedding?”

Tony kind of wants to hit something, but instead he just shakes his head. “Yeah, we cancelled the fucking wedding, Steve. What did you think was going to happen? Barnes is back.”

Another pause. “But - I mean, it’s a few months away. By then, Bucky will probably be feeling better, it’s not like he can’t come - at the very least, it’s not like he would be a disruption or anything -“

And, okay, now this has ventured into the realm of  _what the actual fuck?_ Tony turns to face Steve, hoping for some clue in his expression, but all he can read is genuine confusion. “What are you talking about, Steve?”

“The wedding,” Steve says. “You cancelled it because of Bucky. Which, okay, I know he’s unstable right now, and if it was next week, I’d say maybe, but it’s in a few months, he won’t go on a murder rampage halfway through our first dance or something if that’s what you’re worried about -“

“What?” Tony shakes his head, as if hoping it’ll bring some clarity to his mind, but he’s still stubbornly lost. “That’s not why we cancelled it. We cancelled it because Bucky’s back.”

He stops, because he doesn’t really want to say the rest -  _because your first love is back, because you’re leaving me, because even if you haven’t done it yet I know you’re in love with him and I know this relationship is only a matter of time, now._ But Steve doesn’t look enlightened.

“I’m sorry, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Steve says.

“Fine,” Tony snaps, “Fine, fuck you, want to make me say it out loud? I cancelled the fucking wedding because Barnes is back, and I know how you look at him. I didn’t want to wait for you to break it off yourself so, yeah, I took the preemptive fucking measure. Happy now?”

Steve does not look happy. He looks kind of like someone just kicked him in the nuts, eyes wide and face pale. “Tony,” he says, but his tone is hushed, half-whisper. “What - are you serious?”

Tony shakes his head, turns away again, because he’s too emotionally exhausted right now to try to figure out what the fuck is going on in Steve’s head. “What do you think?”

“Tony,” Steve says again. It’s almost soft, his voice, sweet like it gets sometimes after sex, when he’s murmuring half-intelligible words against Tony’s back, pressing kisses up and down his spine. The thought burns and Tony has to raise a hand to swipe at his eyes.

“Look, like I said, I get it,” Tony manages. “I don’t blame you, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t fucking hurt, so if you could just fuck off and give me some space for a while I’d appreciate it, okay?”

“I don’t want space,” Steve says, and he’s closer now. Tony thinks he should move away but he can’t quite find it in himself to run. “Tony, I don’t want to break up.”

And that’s - well, that’s unexpected, but Tony doesn’t let his hopes rise too far. “You know me, Steve,” Tony says. “I’m a jealous person. I’m not okay with sharing my boyfriend.”

Steve sighs, now, and Tony can just imagine the way he might be pinching his nose right now. He won’t let himself turn and look. “Tony, you’re not listening to me. I don’t want to share you. I don’t want to break up with you. I want to  _marry_ you.”

“But Bucky -“

“Bucky is my  _friend,”_ Steve says. “My best friend, my brother, really, but I’m not in  _love_ with him. I’m in love with you.”

And - oh.  _Oh._ “Oh,” Tony says. “You - but - really?”

“Yes, really, you idiot. Can you - can you look at me, now? I feel weird saying this all to your back.”

“You love my back,” Tony says roughly. “And my ass. You especially love my ass.”

“Yeah, I do, but I love all of you.” Steve’s so close Tony swears he can feel his breath on the back of his neck. A hand lands on his shoulder, warm and firm. “Tony. Turn around for me?”

And how can Tony say no to that? Steve eyes soften even further when he sees the tear-tracks on Tony’s face, and he raises one hand to cup Tony’s jaw, wiping them away with his thumb. “Sweetheart,” he says, “Why didn’t you talk to me about this? You should have told me this was bothering you.”

Tony shrugs, looking down at Steve’s chest. He’s wearing a t-shirt Tony got him, Tony realizes, with a big white star in the center of the chest for no apparent reason other than it was poorly designed. It’s soft, though, and reminded Tony of Steve, and it’s the shirt Tony most likes to steal when Steve goes away on long missions.

“Tony?” Steve prompts, when Tony doesn’t say anything.

“I don’t know,” Tony says finally. “I guess I just - I didn’t want to hear you say it was true.”

“So you decided it was true all by yourself,” Steve says. “And cancelled the wedding. We’re going to have to call all those caterers back, you know. At least tell me you hadn’t contacted the guests yet.”

Honestly, that had slipped Tony’s mind. That’s not the important thing here, though. “So you still want to - to have the -“

“Have the wedding?” Steve supplies. “Yeah, Tony. I want to have the wedding. I proposed to you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but you didn’t know then, that -“

“Tony, there is nothing between me and Bucky, I swear. I’m thrilled he’s back, yeah, because he’s one of my best friends, but the only way it’s changing our wedding is that I’ll have two best men, now, instead of one.” The tears are long gone from Tony’s cheeks, now, but Steve is still rubbing his thumbs, there, a reassuring touch. “And I knew you were ridiculous before we even started dating.”

“Hey, now,” Tony says, but he can’t quite hide the smile tugging at his lips. “I’m not ridiculous, that’s rude.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m pretty sure this counts as ridiculous, sweetheart. Don’t worry, though, I find it endearing. Like all your other many flaws.”

“Hey! Really, this is getting a little mean,” Tony says, grinning fully now. “You know, I think I’m a little hurt, Rogers.”

“Oh, no,” Steve deadpans. “Whatever shall I do?”

“You could kiss it all better,” Tony says, tipping his head back to meet Steve’s eyes.

“Well,” Steve murmurs, eyes dark. “If you insist.”


	150. Groupie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharon runs into Steve at a concert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> established relationship, rockstar au, outside POV

It takes a split second for her to recognize him, a split second that seems ridiculous in hindsight: after all, who else has she met with a shoulder-to-waist ratio that high?

“Steve,” she says, sidling up beside him, and is rewarded by Steve startling so hard some of the liquid sloshes out of his cup.

“Sharon! Hey, what are - I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“I wasn’t planning on coming,” Sharon says. “But my friend got sick and gave me her ticket.” She shrugs. “Figured I might as well come, right?”

“You come alone?”

Once, Sharon would have thought that it was an attempt at a subtle inquiry into her love life - a horrible attempt and about as subtle as a chainsaw, but an attempt nonetheless - but she knows better now: it’s just friendly conversation. Still about as subtle as a chainsaw, though.

“Yep,” Sharon says. “Like I said, one ticket. What about you?”

“Oh, I’m - waiting for someone,” Steve says, staring off somewhere into the distance. Sharon follows his gaze, but as best as she can tell he’s watching the unmoving velvet curtain blocking the backstage access. It’s odd - Steve’s never struck her as someone to get obsessed with a celebrity - but she doesn’t comment on it.

“I was going to go get a drink,” Sharon says eventually, when it becomes obvious there is no more forthcoming. “Do you want to sit together, maybe? Or stand, I guess, I don’t think there are any chairs.”

“Sure,” Steve agrees, “But usually I have to stand in the back. Tall, you know,” he explains at Sharon’s expression. “If you don’t mind, though, it’d be nice to have some company.”

 _Other than whoever you’re waiting for,_ Sharon thinks. “Sounds good,” is all she says. “You want a refill or something?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Steve says, lifting his cup, which Sharon sees now is filled with water. “Still working on this one.”

“Whatever you say,” Sharon says, and slips away again into the crowd, like a fish through the tightly-packed bodies.

It’s a long line at the bar, and by the time Sharon manages to make it back to Steve - who’s moved, now, to a perch near the back corner of the room, where there’s no view for him to block save perhaps that of a fire exit - the lights have started to dim and the crowd has begun to whoop in excitement. Sharon has to pat Steve on the shoulder to get his attention so she can pass him the chocolate bar she bought along with her beer.

“Figured you might get peckish,” she says. Steve smiles, a quick thing Sharon barely catches between flashes of the strobe light.

“Thanks,” he says, and it’s as he’s pulling open it’s crinkly wrapper that the curtain falls.

Sharon’s a little surprised to see there’s no opening band waiting; it’s the main act, positioned before their drums and guitars and microphone stands, looking raring to go. “Hello, New York,” the lead singer purrs. His voice is deep and rich, and, for some reason, sounds vaguely familiar. “Thank you all so much for coming out tonight. It’s an honor to play for you.”

The crowd screams their approval. Honestly, Sharon thinks this guy could probably get up there and start talking about his favorite types of potatoes and they would scream just as loud; who wouldn’t, when he’s wearing what can only be described as skintight black leather leggings and a bright yellow crop top that comes to a halt right above his toned abs.

“Hot damn,” Sharon finds herself murmuring, because, yeah, she could be a solid 5.99 on the Kinsey Scale but there’s always an exception.

“We’ll be starting off tonight with one of your favorites, if the Billboard Charts can be believed. I hope you enjoy it. This is ‘Arc Reactor’.”

And then they start playing. Sharon’s not sure what she expected - she hadn’t thought to ask her roommate about the band before she came tonight, assuming it would be more of the vaguely mediocre indie folk she usually enjoyed - but this is not it. The guitars are loud and screeching, drum base strong, and it could very easily spill over into too much, but it doesn’t. The sounds are balanced, the speakers keeping things loud without busting eardrums, and then the lead singer starts to croon.

“ _Can’t break my heart because it’s already broken, can’t bust down the door when it’s already open -“_

“He’s good,” Sharon says. Steve doesn’t say anything, and she glances over, ready to say it again, only to catch Steve staring at the stage with what she can only describe as hearts in his eyes. He looks  _infatuated._ Sharon’s pretty sure he’s about a second away from fainting out of pure love and excitement.

“Steve?” Sharon calls to be heard over the music. Steve jolts at her words, turning to look at her as a flush creeps up the back of his neck.

“Yeah?”

Sharon opens her mouth to ask - then shuts it. She shakes her head. “Nevermind,” she says. “Just enjoy the music.”

But she keeps stealing glances at him the whole night, and finds his attention never wavers. Not when the pace shifts from head-bangingly fast to more mellow and slow, not when the electric guitars are swapped out for acoustic, not when the drums are replaced by bongos and then, oddly, violins. The music is some of strangest Sharon’s ever heard, and certainly the most eclectic collection ever thrown together in one concert, but she enjoys it. It’s - unique, off-brand and soul-jolting in a way that reminds her of the classic bands of her childhood, the Beatles and Queen. By the time the encore comes to an end - with loud cheering and a full five-minute chant before people realize that, no, they are not going to be indulged a  _second_ time - Sharon’s decided that this might be one of her new favorite artists.

“Well, that was pretty fucking great,” Sharon says, finally, when the lights come back up and people start to filter out of the room. “Did you like it, Steve?”

Steve, who still has that glazed look on his face, the one he’d maintained the entire show, except for the brief moment towards the middle of the set when the lead singer had lifted his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face and Sharon had thought he was having a heart attack.

“Yeah,” Steve says, before Sharon has to prompt him again. “Yeah, it was, uh, really good. I - do you want to go backstage?”

Sharon’s eyebrows shoot up. “Can we do that?” she asks. She’s sure, now, that Steve’s got at least a crush on this lead singer, and usually that’s harmless, but if Steve has become some sort of stalker -

But Steve just nods, waving a hand like it’s nothing. “Yeah, I have access. Come here.”

Sure enough, when they make it to the security barrier, Steve flashes a smile at the bodyguard standing there and he immediately steps back to let them pass. “Hey, Happy,” Steve says, without moving by. “This is my friend, Sharon. Mind if she comes with me?”

“You know the rules, you can take whoever you want back,” Happy says. “Hey, you’re still coming to dinner tomorrow, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Steve confirms, and, okay, despite herself, Sharon is feeling a little lost. “I’ll see you then, all right!”

“You got it,” the bodyguard - Happy - says, and then they’re moving past him, down the narrow, dark halls of the surprisingly big backstage.

“The dressing room is over here, I think,” Steve says, guiding Sharon without touching her. “I haven’t been here before though, so - oh! Here it is!”

 **BAND ONLY,** the sign on the door says in big block text.  **NO GROUPIES ALLOWED.**

“Uh, Steve,” Sharon says skeptically, but either Steve can’t hear her or he ignores her, because he’s pushing the door open anyway.

Sure enough, the band is all there in various stages of disarray - one, the drummer, looks surprisingly mousy from out behind his instrument, and is reading what Sharon thinks might be a science textbook. The red-headed guitarist is sitting at the vanity, touching up the deep purple of her lipstick, while the dark-skinned bassist sprawls out over the couch, throwing a rubber ball up to the ceiling and catching it, again and again.

And then there’s the lead singer. Still dressed in his skimpy clothes and, Sharon thinks, a little grossly sweaty, he beams the moment he sees them and charges forward. “Steve!” he exclaims, and without any warning leaps into Steve’s arms. Steve seems to expect it, though, because he catches him easily, pulling him up so he can wrap his legs around Steve’s waist.

“Ugh,” the bassist sighs, as the two start kissing enthusiastically. “Are you two ever going to stop being disgustingly romantic?”

The singer breaks off long enough to shoot his friend a cheeky grin. “Never, Rhodey,” he promises.

“Uh,” Sharon says pointedly.

Steve’s cheeks go a little pink when he remembers her presence, but he still doesn’t let Tony down. “Uh, Tony, this is Sharon. She’s a friend from school. Sharon, this is my boyfriend, Tony.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Tony says, offering Sharon his free hand. His other is curled in the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck, scratching almost absently. “I’ve been wanting to meet more of Steve’s friends.”

“Good to meet you, too,” Sharon says, accepting the handshake. Firm.  _Good_ , she thinks absently. “Though I can’t say I knew Steve had a boyfriend.”

Tony pouts, gaze turning back on Steve. “Do you not tell people about me?”

Steve huffs. “It’s supposed to be under wraps, Tony! I’m not supposed to be telling people.”

Tony’s pout just deepens. “Well, maybe I want you to.”

“That’s - honey, I love you, I do, but we can’t. It was literally your idea to keep this secret, you can’t keep changing your mind whenever you start feeling jealous.”

Tony frowns. “Jealous? Psh. Who’s jealous? Your friend is just a smoking hot blonde who had no idea you were taken, I have no idea why that would bother me -“

Steve sighs, and starts arguing again - something perfectly logical, Sharon imagines, but, still, she can recognize banter when she sees it. It’s not entirely unlike how Steve used to act around her cousin, Peggy, back when they were dating.

She turns to the bassist - Rhodey - and raises an eyebrow. “Are they like this all the time?”

“Always,” Rhodey confirms.

Sharon sighs.


	151. Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharon and Steve see each other for the first time after the Decimation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> post-endgame, NO SPOILERS, outside POV, established relationship

“You look good,” Sharon says.

It’s true; he does. Older, yes, but good nonetheless. He seems more filled out than the last time Sharon had seen him, and he’s newly clean-shaven, too, which only serves to highlight the laugh-lines crinkling around his eyes. He looks - happy.

“So do you,” Steve returns. Sharon’s not sure if he genuinely means it or if he’s just saying it out of an effort to be polite; she certainly wouldn’t say she looks good at the moment, but then maybe there’s some glow about her. Like the glow of pregnancy, only it’s the glow of rebirth; the glow of the dead returning to life.

“Thanks,” Sharon says.

For a moment, there’s silence. It’s surprisingly hard to come up with something to say; after all, what  _do_ you say to your aunt’s ex-boyfriend, who may or may not have briefly been  _your_ boyfriend, before he became an internationally wanted fugitive and you turned to dust for two years? As a former agent of SHIELD, Sharon’s been trained for a lot of situations, but this one -well. This one takes the cake.

“I’m, uh, glad to see you’re doing well,” Steve starts finally, and it’s so stilted and awkward that Sharon kind of wants to tear her hair out.

“Okay, you don’ have to do that,” Sharon says. Steve blinks, and opens his mouth as if to argue, but Sharon ploughs forward before he can. “I get it. It’s weird, with - our past, and all that. But there’s no reason to be awkward about it.”

Steve gives a little huff and a smile. “I can’t really help it, you know,” Steve says. “I’ve been told I’m hopeless around women. Or attractive people in general, really.”

“Well, then, I’ll make it easy for you,” Sharon says. “I heard there was something going on between you and Tony. Is that true?”

Steve ducks his head. “Yes,” he says. “I’m sorry - well, no, I’m not sorry, but I’m - I can’t help but feel as if I led you on, or -“

“Steve,” Sharon interrupts, before Steve can spiral any further into whatever this hole of awkwardness is. “You don’t owe me anything. We kissed once, three years ago. I’m pretty sure we weren’t exclusive.”

Steve chuckles, swiping a hand over his mouth. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Still. Sorry for the lack of - heads up, I guess.”

Sharon decides not to point out that she’d been dead at the time Steve and Tony had started - whatever this thing is between them. Maybe Steve would have gone to her grave and apologized to her headstone. He probably wanted to do something similar with Peggy when they kissed, Sharon thinks, which is weird enough that she forces her mind elsewhere.

“Are you happy with him?”

It’s the only question here that really matters, Sharon thinks. She may not be interested in Steve anymore, but she does care about him, and she’ll treat his boyfriend accordingly. If he’s happy, that’s great, Sharon’s got a new friend. But if he’s not -

But Steve smiles, a soft look Sharon’s not sure she’s ever seen on him before. “Yeah,” he says, voice soft and quiet, too. “Yeah, he’s, uh - he’s really great. He makes me better. I like to think I make him better, too.”

“And happy?” Sharon presses, because even though it’s pretty obvious from the way Steve’s acting, she needs to be sure. She doesn’t know Steve that well, but she does know he’s righteous and so she can’t say for sure whether he’s the type of person to date someone out of guilt.

But Steve nods. “Really happy,” he confirms, and he looks it. Sharon smiles.

“I’m glad,” she says. “You gonna introduce me?”

Steve frowns. “You’ve met Tony,” he says. “There’s no way you haven’t met Tony.”

“I’ve met Tony Stark, Iron Man, SHIELD consultant and pain in Fury’s ass,” Sharon says, stepping forward to hook her arm through Steve’s. “I haven’t met Tony Stark, Steve Roger’s boyfriend. Do you know where he might be?”

“The lab, I’m sure,” Steve says, sounding fond. “It’s always the damn lab. Come on, I’m sure he’d love to meet you.”

It’s not the same as before - it’s new, and for a while maybe it’ll be a little weird - but it’s something. It’s a start. Sharon lets herself be led.


	152. Proposer, Proposee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So,” Tony says one day, when he’s got Bucky perched on the stool in front of him and his hand buried in Bucky’s metal arm. “If I proposed to Steve, you wouldn’t kill me, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, established relationship, proposal, background sambucky

“So,” Tony says one day, when he’s got Bucky perched on the stool in front of him and his hand buried in Bucky’s metal arm. “If I proposed to Steve, you wouldn’t kill me, right?”

His voice is casual, but his shoulders are tight, and he’s carefully not looking Bucky in the eye. Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Should I?”

Tony shrugs, one-shouldered. “I don’t know,” he says. “Generally, I’m anti-murder, especially when said murderee is myself, but it might be worth it if it stops me from fucking up Steve’s life.”

 _Interesting_ , Bucky thinks. “Why do you think you’re going to fuck up Steve’s life?”

Tony huffs. “Because -“ he waves his free hand in the air as he flounders for words. “Because he’s Steve. And I’m me. Come on, you can’t say you think I’m good enough for him.”

“No,” Bucky agrees. Tony gives a tiny little flinch, but Bucky continues, “But I know he thinks you’re good enough for him. And Steve’s a big boy. He can decide what he wants.”

Tony sneaks a peek up at Bucky, but it only lasts a second before he’s refocusing on his arm. “That’s… surprisingly mature of you,” Tony says. “I was expecting you to be more of a shovel talk kinda guy.”

“Well, I mean, I can if it’ll make you feel better,” Bucky says. “Is that what this is about? You want someone to protect Steve from you? Fine, consider it done. If you hurt Steve I’ll stick this metal arm you made me so far up your ass I’ll tickle your tonsils.”

“Sexy,” Tony says, but he’s relaxing now, too. “Okay. Good. I’ll hold you to that. Jarvis has the video and everything.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and sits back in his chair. “You won’t need to hold me to it, because you’d probably stab yourself in the heart before you did anything to hurt Steve, but, whatever. If it makes you feel better. How were you planning to do it?”

“Something simple,” Tony says. “I mean, my first instinct was fireworks and gold-flaked caviar and a billion dollar ring, but then Steve would spend the whole night trying to figure out how much it cost me and I’d like to have some decent sex on my engagement night.”

“Fair,” Bucky says. “Just don’t do a cliche, all right? Like, don’t do a fancy restaurant and propose to him with the dessert or whatever. He’d never say it, but he’s unique, he deserves a unique proposal.”

Tony nods, looking speculative. “Noted,” he says. “Now twist your arm around and shut your mouth, I need to focus on this synapse.”

-

The thing about Steve and Tony is that they’re kind of the perfect couple. Not in a literal sense - they argue all the time and clash in a lot of important places. Sometimes, Bucky wonders how they can even stand to be friends. But the fire buried in all of their arguments in buried in their love, too, and for every eardrum shattering screaming match, there’s a head-board banging sex marathon that kind of makes Bucky want to claw his ears off. It’s rough and it’s loud but it’s so, so strong, and Bucky thinks, often, that nothing can break Steve and Tony’s love. It’s the kind of thing people are talking about when they talk about soulmates.

So Bucky’s not surprised when Tony asks him, in his own convoluted way, for Steve’s hand. He’s even less surprised when, two weeks later, Steve invites Bucky over to his apartment for dessert and shows him a little red velvet box.

“I’m sorry, man, I’m taken,” Bucky says, and Steve rolls his eyes and punches his arm.

“Jerk,” he says. “Just look at the ring, tell me if you think he’ll like it.”

“Rhodes is more of an expert on Tony than I am,” Bucky warns as he accepts the box.

“I know, and I’ve been asking him for help, but you’re Tony’s friend, too. Please, just take a look?”

“Okay, okay, jeez,” Bucky says, and flips open the lid. It is, at first glance, a simple ring: a deep, glowing gold band, it’s inset with a bevelled silver strip that accents the base color nicely. The symbolism of the piece is obvious, Iron Man gold and Captain America silver, but it’s not until Bucky picks up the piece to examine it closer that he identifies the unique glint of the metal.

“Is this vibranium?” Bucky asks.

Steve nods. “I got some help from Shuri. Do you think he’ll like it? I thought maybe he’d want something with jewels, a ruby or something, but then the edges might get caught on his suits, and I liked the design of this so much -“

“He’ll love it,” Bucky interrupts. “Seriously, Steve, you could give him a ring pop and he’d probably shit himself from excitement.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks. He hasn’t looked this nervous in ages, Bucky thinks, not since he was first building up the courage to ask Tony out, positive that, in doing so, he was about to ruin their budding friendship.

“Yeah,” Bucky confirms. It’s the truth. And really, it is a gorgeous ring, tying the two of their styles together perfectly. It just doesn’t really matter.

“I’m going to ask him next week,” Steve confides, snapping the lid closed on the box and tucking it away into his pocket. “I don’t know how yet, but I want it to be special.”

“Yeah? Thinking something flashy?”

“No,” Steve says, surprising Bucky. “Tony’s had plenty of people in his life try to woo him by throwing money around. I think he’d appreciate something real.”

He’s probably right, Bucky thinks. “Well, good luck,” Bucky says, reaching forward to give Steve a pat on the shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything, all right?”

Steve smiles. “Will do. Thanks, Buck.”

“Anytime,” Bucky promises. “Punk. Now give me cake, I dragged my ass all the way down here for dessert and I refuse to walk away empty-handed.”

-

True to his word, Steve proposes later that week, on a Friday evening while he and Tony are having a quiet night in. He gives Bucky the heads up beforehand, which of course means he gathers the entire Avengers team on the common floor and has Jarvis throw the security footage of Steve and Tony’s living room on the monitor, because what the hell else are omniscient A.I.’s for?

It’s boring for a solid forty-five minutes, and Bucky is beginning to contemplate the benefits of texting Steve and telling him to get the hell on with it when Steve reaches for the remote to pause the movie their watching. Luke Skywalker freezes mid-dramatic gesture, and Tony huffs.

“Of all the scenes to take a pee break, this is like the worst - Steve?”

Because he’s turned to pout at Steve, and finally sees Steve has dropped onto the floor and onto one knee, that familiar velvet box in his hand.

“Tony,” Steve starts, voice shaking. The common floor room feels frozen, so quiet Bucky can hear the others not breathing, the excited pounding of their hearts. “These past few years have been the happiest of my life. After I went in the ice - after I woke up here - I never imagined I would have a place in the world again. But I did, because you gave it to me - you gave me a home and a love and something to work for. I love you more than I can possibly articulate. Tony,” he says, and flips the lid of the box open, revealing the gleaming ring, “will you marry me?”

For a long, long moment, Tony is silent. His eyes are wide and his mouth is open, and if Bucky didn’t know his heart issues were taken care of by Extremis, he’d be slightly worried he was having a cardiac arrest. As it is, all he can think is,  _come on, say yes you dumbass,_ because even though everyone else on the planet knows Tony wants to marry Steve, Steve looks like he’s getting closer to spontaneous combustion every second that Tony doesn’t respond.

But when Tony finally opens his mouth, it’s not what Bucky was expecting. “No,” Tony says. It’s so quiet Bucky thinks he must have heard it wrong, but then Tony is continuing, “No, fuck you, Rogers, you are not proposing,  _I’m_ proposing!”

Steve’s expression, which had been rapidly falling, freezes. “What?” he says. “You -  _I’m_ proposing, Tony, I’ve got a ring right here and everything -“

Tony reaches forward and bats the box out of his hand. It goes tumbling onto the carpet. “I don’t see a ring,” he says.

Steve gapes at him. “What - Tony, you can’t avoid my proposal by  _throwing away the ring -“_

“Watch me!” Tony says, and then he’s leaping off the couch and running out of the frame. “I’m proposing, Rogers!” Bucky hears him call, tinny through the surveillance video. Steve stares at his back a moment longer before he reaches down and grabs his ring off the ground, then chases after them.

“Follow them,” Bucky says, but Jarvis is already obeying, switching views to the camera inside Steve and Tony’s bedroom just as Tony barrels through the door.

“I’m the proposer,” Tony mutters to himself, as he hurries towards his dresser and starts rummaging through his sock drawer. “I’m - ha!”

He pulls his own box out of the drawer, one that is also familiar to Bucky. He turns just as Steve enters the room, and before either of them can say anything, throws the box at Steve’s chest. Steve catches it on automatic, and Tony throws his arms in the air. “Marry me!” he yells. “Ha!  _I’m the proposer!”_

“I proposed first!” Steve says indignantly.

“Did you? I don’t know, I don’t recall that.”

“You - Tony, there’s  _video footage,_ you can’t just pretend it didn’t happen because you’re mad I beat you to it -“

“Actually, I think I can, because that’s exactly what I’m doing -“

Steve shakes his head. “My god, you’re ridiculous,” he says. “Jesus Christ. Why do I wanna marry you again?”

“Beats me,” Tony says. “But you do. Right?”

Steve shakes his head again. “You’re ridiculous,” he says again. “Yes, I want to marry you. Now take your damn ring.”

“Fine,” Tony says, and steps forward and snatches it from Steve’s hand. He pulls the ring out of the box and unceremoniously shoves it onto his finger. “Now you.”

Steve flips open the lid on his box. It’s hard to see on the screen, but Bucky knows what the ring looks like - a classic silver, inscribed on the inside with  _next to you._ It’s romantic and classic and just the kind of thing Steve would like.

Steve doesn’t even seem to notice, though, shoving the ring on his finger just as quickly. “There,” he says, tossing down the ring box. “Now we’re engaged.”

There’s a beat of silence where Steve and Tony just look at each other. Then they’re surging forward, Tony catching Steve’s face in his hands as Steve pulls Tony in by the waist. They kiss like drowning men, like teenagers just learning that your tongue can go in someone else’s mouth, and it’s disgusting and cute in equal parts. “Ugh, turn it off,” Bucky says, because any more of this and he might actually start thinking about proposing  _himself._

“Aw,” Sam says, next to him.”That was cute.”

“Dumb,” Bucky says.

“Oh, yeah, dumb as shit, but what were you really expecting?”

“Good point,” Bucky agrees.

“Anyway, when I propose to you, it’ll be much nicer.”

Bucky goes a little still. He glances over at Sam to find Sam already watching him, eyes wide and sincere. “You’re not proposing to me,” Bucky hears himself say. “I’m proposing to you.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Well, we’ll see about that, won’t we?”

They sit there a moment longer before they rise and start running for their rooms simultaneously.


	153. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first thing Steve thinks after the snap is Tony. Oh, god, Tony.
> 
> (AU where Steve and Tony are married before IW.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ENDGAME SPOILERS, establised relationship, AU

The first thing Steve thinks after the snap is  _Tony. Oh, god, Tony._

It’s pretty much all he thinks, for the next few weeks. It consumes all his waking thoughts, his conscious moments, because  _Tony could be alive._ Bucky, Sam, Wanda - they’re gone, at least for now, and Steve can mourn and scream about that later, but Tony -

Tony might still be here. Tony might still be here to hold Steve and kiss him and dance with him in the darkness of their bedroom when Steve can’t sleep. Tony might still be here to  _fix this._

But as hard as Steve searches, as many routes as he goes down and as much as he pushes Bruce, he finds nothing. No transmissions, no signals, no hidden messages. Space is screaming, distress signals from every single planet and every known civilization, but none of those SOS calls bear Tony’s voices. As the days pass, Steve grows more and more desperate, reaching out to every possibility: trying to get into the Sanctum to see if Strange might have known anything about where they were going, interrogating Rocket about Thanos, keeping a twenty-year-old pager running, even after it should have died, just in case a miracle arrives.

And then it does.

When Carol says she can find the ship for them, Steve’s heart leaps out of his chest. “I’ll give you the details,” Rocket says, and they step out of the room to talk as Steve stares at the wall and tries to breathe.

It’s only a few days after that that Tony comes home.

Steve’s shaving when they get the ping about an incoming satellite. It’s irrational, he knows, and maybe he should leave it, but some part of him wants Tony to be as comfortable as possible, and Tony had known this version of Steve far longer than he had known his rugged, outlaw doppelgänger. Steve had looked like this when they met, when they started dating, when he had tugged off Tony’s tuxedo and pulled him into bed on their wedding night. It’s stupid, and he knows it’s stupid, but Tony -

He’ll have been through a lot, Steve knows. ( _If he’s still alive,_ some part of Steve’s mind whispers, a part he resolutely pushes away.) Steve just wants him to be as comfortable as possible.

Luckily, Steve is just cleaning up his jawline when the alarm goes off, and he abandons everything as it is so he can jog with the other Avengers out to the lawn. The ship is dark and massive, but Carol, below it, glows shiny and bright. Steve shields his eyes as she lands the ship, and waits, until finally the hatch of the ship opens, and two figures appear shadowed in the darkness. They step forward, shaky and slow, and Steve’s heart is in his chest, and he’s thinking  _Tony, Tony, Tony,_ and then they step forward into the light.

Oh, God.

“ _Tony,”_ Steve breathes, and then he’s stumbling forward to where Tony is half-tripping his way out of the back of the spaceship, practically hanging off the blue-skinned woman beside him.

“Steve?” Tony mumbles, gaze unfocused and distracted.

“Sweetheart,” Steve says, and finally he’s close enough to touch, to wrap Tony up in his arms. Tony goes willingly, immediately sagging in to Steve’s grip, but it still takes the woman beside him a moment to let him go. Steve doesn’t care, though: all he can think about is Tony, ragged and starved, his skin sallow and pale, collarbones so sharp that Steve can feel them, pressing against his chest.

“Steve,” Tony says again. “You’re alive.”

Steve blinks back furious tears. “I’m alive,” he manages to agree, and tugs Tony a little closer. “Oh, honey, what did they  _do_ to you?”

Tony huffs out what Steve thinks might be an attempt at a laugh. “Not much, actually. Nebula healed up my stab wound pretty nice, tis is mostly from the three weeks stranded in space.”

Steve shakes his head, pressing kisses into Tony’s hair. He can’t believe this has happened, has happened  _again -_ he can only imagine what it was like for Tony, being stuck up there, staring out at the twinkling expanses of stars that have haunted him since New York. To be trapped somewhere no man has ever gone, not once but twice, and knowing,  _knowing_ that it’s unlikely he’ll get any sort of rescue -

“I lost the kid,” Tony says. His words are soft and mumbled, almost lost against Steve’s chest. “He’s dead. Dusted. ’s my fault. I couldn’t stop him.”

“ _We_ couldn’t stop him,” Steve corrects him. “If anything it’s my fault, I’m the one who made the call that we should split up.”

But Tony just shakes his head. “I was supposed to protect him,” he says, “he was so good, and so  _young -“_

“Tony,” Steve interrupts. “Hey. Shh. We’re gonna fix this, all right? You and me, we’re gonna fix this.”

“Yeah?” Tony asks. His voice is so small, almost like a child’s himself. Steve wonders how out of it he is to be talking like that right now, how deep in the starvation fog his brain must be.

“Yeah,” Steve promises. It’s not a promise he can really make, but right now, he doesn’t care. “Let’s get you inside, okay? Get some nutrients into you, let you rest.”

“There’s no time for rest,” Tony says. “There’s work to be done.”

Steve dips down, presses a kiss to Tony’s temple. “You have us,” he murmurs. “We’re all here to help, okay? You’re not alone.”

Tony sighs, and for a moment, Steve worries he’s going to argue, but then he just nods. “Together,” he murmurs, raising one hand to tangle with Steve’s. Their wedding bands gleam from their fingers, silver and gold. “Yeah. Okay.”


	154. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Steve was younger, before he went into the ice, he never worried much about minor injuries. That all changes once he wakes up and meets Tony Stark, Iron Man, paragon of the modern world, who wears all of Steve’s injuries on his own skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get together, soulmate au
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of past self harm

When Steve was younger, before he went into the ice, he never worried much about minor injuries.

They don’t really affect him, after all; the serum heals his wounds as soon as he gets them, leaving behind no trace of scab or mark or scar. Often - more often, Bucky says, then he should - Steve decides the sharp sting of a cut or burn or stab wound is worth the outcome it achieves.

That all changes once he wakes up and meets Tony Stark, Iron Man, paragon of the modern world, who wears all of Steve’s injuries on his own skin.

“It’s fine,” he says, the first time Steve thinks it apologize for it. The Chitarui have been destroyed and Thor has returned to Asgard with his brother; Steve and Tony stand now in front of Tony’s million-dollar sports car, offering small talk as they try to figure out what the hell they’re supposed to do. Or at least, that’s what Steve is doing.

“I never thought -“

“I said it’s fine,” Tony interrupts, and his tone is firm but his eyes are soft. “Really, Steve, it’s not a big deal. You’d barely even notice them, with my own scars.”

Steve frowns. That sounds concerning - how many scars does Tony have? Steve would have assumed it was just a standard amount, a few old nicks and burns, maybe some extra marks on his hands, from all the work he does in the lab -

But before he can come up with a reasonable way to ask, Tony’s moving on. “Anyway, don’t stay gone too long, all right? Much as I hate to admit it, New York needs you.”

 _I don’t know about that,_ Steve thinks but doesn’t say. “I appreciate the sentiment, Mr. Stark,” he says, holding out a hand for a shake that Tony, after a moment’s pause, accepts. His grip is firm, palms rough with calluses.

“Call me Tony,” Tony says. “Seriously, if you’ve called me an arrogant asshole, I think you can manage my first name.”

Steve winces. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean -“

But Tony’s shaking his head. “No, don’t apologize, I might break out in hives, I’ve been reliably informed I’m allergic to emotions. Which is why I’m only going to say this once: whenever your fill of cheeseheads and America’s largest ball of twine, let me know, all right? There’s always a place at the tower for you if you want it.”

Steve blinks. He feels vaguely like he’s riding a roller coaster, whipped around by the twists and turns in the track. He can barely follow Tony’s train of thought. “Thank you,” he says finally.

Tony just nods. “You got it, Cap. Have a safe trip.”

Then he’s dropping his hand from Steve’s - and only now does Steve realize they’ve been shaking hands for, what, a  full minute? - and climb into the car where Bruce is waiting for him. Steve offers Bruce a smile and a wave, which Bruce returns, somewhat awkwardly, and then they’re gone, leaving Steve with his bike and helmet and a vague idea that maybe the best thing to do right now isn’t to go on a solo road trip.

He shakes the feeling off. He needs space, needs time to adjust and learn about this new world he’s ended up in. Tony -  _the Avengers,_ he corrects himself - will be here when he gets back.

-

It’s not until three months later that Steve returns to New York and, consequentially, to the Avengers. In that time, he acquires no new wounds except a minor paper cut on one finger, gone before Steve even had a chance to lick the blood off of his finger, and so he’s relatively certain he’s managed to avoid giving Tony any more scars. Tony, though, isn’t quite so lucky, something learns when Steve steps into the Tower, opens his mouth to ask where Tony is, and spots him dozing on the couch, a butterfly bandage tracing the edge of his hairline. Just by glancing at it, Steve knows it’ll leave a lasting mark. He touches his own hairline in the same spot; there should be a wound, there. But there isn’t.

“Captain Rogers.”

For a dissonant moment, Steve thinks that Tony was the one who had spoken, but then he realizes the voice is female and lilting. When he turns around, he finds Pepper Potts standing in the kitchen doorway, looking pleasant enough aside from the way her arms are folded across her chest.

“Miss Potts,” Steve says. It takes a moment for his brain to kick in, but then he’s stepping forward, hand outstretched. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. I’ve heard a lot about the work you do with Tony.”

Almost reluctantly, Pepper accepts his hand, giving it a curt pump. “Likewise,” she says. “Or the one time, at least. Are you back to stay for a while, now?”

Steve feels, oddly enough, like there’s some reprimand in those words, but he tells himself he’s being silly. “Yes, Tony said he was bringing the team together and invited me a few months ago. I didn’t want to presume, or anything, but I thought I’d visit -“

“I think of anyone, you’d be the most entitled to presumption,” Pepper points out. “You are his soulmate after all, aren’t you?”

And, yeah, there’s definitely something a little sharp in her tone, now.

Steve decides it’s best not to beat about the bush. “Yes,” he says, “Is that a problem?” There were people like that in the ‘40s, of course, people who thought same-gender soulbonds were a mistake, or a trial by God, something to test your willpower and dedication to His word. He had thought it would be different now, but -

But Pepper just hums. “It’s strange,” she says, “You running away right after you found him and all. Not quite a conventional move.”

“Yes, well.” Steve’s once again taken aback by the change in topic. “I just woke up, and all. I needed some space, figure out who I am. I think both of us did, honestly. Our first meeting…. didn’t exactly go well.”

“I heard.” Pepper stares at him a moment longer. “Well, welcome to the Tower, Steve. I hope you stick around this time.”

It sounds like a challenge, and Steve - well. He’s never been able to back down from those. “I will,” he says firmly, and is rewarded by a flicker of surprise on Pepper’s face before she schools it back into its careful mask. “I look forward to getting to know you better.”

“Yeah,” Pepper says. “You, too.”

Then she’s gone, headed off into the very same elevator Steve had ridden up to the penthouse. Steve waits until the doors have securely closed before he lets his shoulder slump; he’s always been awkward around women, powerful women even more so.

In her absence, Steve is left in the room with Tony, who sleeps on like Steve and Pepper hadn’t just had a relatively substantial stand off in front of him. He’s wearing sweats and a cardigan, but his feet are bare, and oddly, Steve feels like he should hunt around for a blanket, something to keep his toes warm.

This isn’t his house, though, at least not yet, so instead Steve asks Jarvis to tell Tony when he wakes and goes to find Bruce. He’s in his lab, working in something in nuclear physics that Steve can’t hope to understand, and they chat for a while about Steve’s trip and Bruce’s ex-girlfriend before Tony stumbles down, still barefooted and bedheaded, asking when Steve got in and why they didn’t wake him and if anyone wanted to binge Thai food and watch Star Wars.

They end up compromising on Chinese, because Bruce hates Thai - “Had a bad experience in Bangkok,” he tells Steve at his questioning glance, “The best drunken noodles I’d ever had, for about two hours” - and stay up until midnight watching the first two movies. They’re surprisingly good, and the special effects are  _amazing,_ even though Tony insists they’re wildly outdated. Bruce falls asleep halfway through the Empire Strikes Back, and then it’s just Steve and Tony, idly munching on white rice and what Tony has informed him are called egg rolls, even though Steve can’t find the egg in them.

“Enjoying the movie?” Tony asks, during one of the lulls.

Steve glances over at him, watching the way the neon lights play over his face in the dark of the room. “Yeah,” he says, and is surprised to find he means it. “Yeah, I am.”

-

Things seem to move fast, after that.

The three-man operation of Steve and Tony and Bruce grows tight knit quickly. Tony and Bruce are already close, of course, and Steve would worry about not fitting in with their genius brains and science talk, but surprisingly it’s easy enough for him to slip into the lab and join their bonding sessions, drawing or reading or just listening, commenting on the things he does understand. Movie nights grow more regular, and they start sparring in the gym: sometimes all three of them, but more often just Steve and Tony, with uniform and without, carefully picking each other apart. It’s then that Steve first starts to catalogue the collection of scars on Tony’s body. It’s not conscious, not something he does deliberately - it’s intimate, after all, the idea of knowing someone’s marks as well as your own - but it happens nonetheless. Tony twists to avoid a blow and his shirt rides up and Steve catches a glimpse of a long-healed welt, white and shiny, on his hip. He strips down to a tank top to practice boxing and Steve learns about the hatch-like pattern on his upper arm, a cut so deep it still furrows into his skin. Once, Tony even wears shorts, tiny little things that hug his ass and show off his thighs, and Steve is so distracted by the skin and keeping his dick under control that he almost doesn’t notice the marks on Tony’s thigh.

Almost, but not quite. They’re little things, circular scars a little smaller than a dime that climb up Tony’s leg like a trellis of flowers on a vine. Steve can’t think of anything that might have caused them - an accident with gravel, maybe, but that would have shredded his skin inconsistently, not in those perfect little circles, and anything else with that kind of pattern would have caused some sort of deep-tissue scarring, not these clearly surface level scars that must have at most only blistered the surface of Tony’s skin.

He gets too caught up in the mystery, and staring, and Tony catches him out on it. He freezes as soon as he sees where Steve is looking, and hurriedly turns away so he’s perpendicular to Steve, his thigh out of Steve’s sight. “It’s nothing,” he says, before Steve has a chance to ask. “They’re old. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Steve shakes his head, brow furrowed. “Did you get into an accident or something?”

Tony’s expression hardens. “I said it’s nothing, Steve, drop it, will you? I’m going to go run.”

And he leaves for the treadmill before Steve can say anything else.

Steve joins him a few minutes later, once he’s had a few minutes to cool down. Tony doesn’t bring it up, and Steve doesn’t either, and within a short time they’re back to their usual teasing and laughter. It’s not until later - when Steve is showering in his quarters, water just the wrong side of tepid, sudsing shampoo into his hair - that Steve realizes what they were. Small and circular, the size of cigarette butts, and scattered on the outside of Tony’s right thigh, just where a right handed person would have the most access to their own leg. Easily covered by most pants, easily ignored.

An ache swells in Steve’s chest, low and overwhelming, and he has to press a hand to the shower wall, close his eyes.  _Oh, Tony,_ he thinks. They’re old, Tony had said, and from the look of them, Steve didn’t doubt he meant it, but still. Just imagining a Tony at any age: in his twenties, fresh off the deaths of his parents, in his teens, overwhelmed with pressure and attention, as a  _child -_

It takes Steve a few minutes before he can find the energy to push himself up again and continue his shower routine. Even then, all he can think about for the rest of the day is Erskine’s serum and how, without it, Steve would have been able to see those marks on his own thigh, would have known to help before Tony would ever have had to ask.

-

There are a lot of things the new century treats differently than Steve’s, but the one that he finds the hardest to move past is soulmates. Soulmates are still generally thought to be a huge part of each other’s lives, here; but there’s less of an automatic assumption that it will be romantic, especially between man-woman partnerships. Friendship bonds were considered rare in Steve’s time, if they were considered at all; usually, the only people who actually attempted them were those in same-sex soulbonds who prescribed to religions, like orthodox Catholicism, which preached that same-sex romantic entanglements were sinful. Their numbers had been few, even then - ever since the New Awakening in the 1840s - and so it’s strange, now, to see that so twisted.

Not that twisted is necessarily the right word for it. More that it’s different, like everything else in this century. Platonic soulbonds are seen as just as valuable and worthy as romantic bonds, and generally, people now seem to have the choice of how they want to proceed with their pairing. There are still those who report the love-at-first-sight feeling Steve had grown up hearing about, but more and more now people are approaching dating much slower, keeping their options open while still seeing their soulmate, or simply not dating at all.

Steve knows it’s a good thing - love is love is love, after all, he’s always believed that - but he would be lying if he were to say it doesn’t take some getting used to. Especially given that Steve has his own soulmate, now, a man who’s strong and brave and gorgeous, a man who could get anyone he wanted into bed with him, if only he tried.

And Steve knows that it’s partially his fault that he and Tony aren’t dating. Maybe mostly his fault. He was the one, after all, who batted Tony’s hand away on the Helicarrier, who initiated the contact that sent the bonding hormones singing through them. He was the one, too, who not twenty minutes afterwards spat insults at his soulmate, telling him he was a weak and selfish man. And he was the one who left.

But now - now he knows Tony, knows how brave and smart and  _good_ he is, and Steve - well. Steve doesn’t want a platonic soul bond, is the thing. Not at all.

He tells this to Natasha, a few weeks after she moves into the Tower. Clint comes with her, leaving only Thor still missing from their ragtag bunch. They’re acclimating well to the team, Steve thinks, but they still need more one-on-one time with everyone to get fully integrated, which is why Steve asked her to teach him how to make cupcakes. He doesn’t know how the subject comes up, but eventually, they’re talking about Tony, and their soul bond, and then Steve is blurting all the things he can’t say to Tony or Bruce for fear of being heartbroken.

“You should tell him,” Natasha says when he’s done speaking. They’re sitting in front of the oven, watching the cupcakes bake through the yellow-tinged glass window. “Keeping it to yourself isn’t going to do anyone any good. You know that.”

Steve bites his lip. “But what if he says no?”

Natasha shrugs. “Then he says no. It’ll suck for a few days, sure, I won’t lie. But you’ve got me and Clint and Bruce, and eventually you guys will go back to normal. For all his flaws, he’s not a cruel guy, you know that. And in the end, won’t it be better to have it off your chest? To  _know,_ instead of always wondering?”

Steve mulls it over for a few days. He makes the decision half a dozen times - once, he even dresses up in a suit and tie, buys flowers, and makes it all the way down to Tony’s lab before he realizes this is a horrible idea and practically screams at Jarvis to shut the elevator doors.

When he does finally ask, it’s a normal afternoon. They’re playing Mario Kart, Tony and Steve - Tony is winning because, despite Steve’s super soldier reflexes, he can’t figure out how to keep his stupid car on this slick rainbow road. Steve’s just tumbled off the edge and Tony is whooping about it - arms in the air doing a full-on victory dance. His hair is messy and there are circles under his eyes and his scars are gleaming in the light of the room. He’s gorgeous, Steve thinks, the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen.

“Go on a date with me?”

Tony freezes. Steve forces himself not to freeze, too, instead taking deep breaths.  _It’ll be fine,_ he tells himself.  _You want to know, don’t you?_

“What?” Tony asks. His voice is hoarse, suddenly, and Steve has no idea if that’s a good or a bad sign. “What did you just say?”

Steve swallows. “I asked if you want to go on a date with me.”

“You -“ Tony stares at him. “Are you serious?”

“Of course.”

“I -“ Tony blinks, shakes his head. “Why? Is it just because you’re my soulmate? Because soulmates don’t have to be together, now, Steve, not like that, some soulbonds are platonic -“

“It’s not because of that.” Steve does his best to keep his voice firm, even if he’s practically shaking with suspense at this point. “I - I love you, Tony. And I’m not sure yet if that’s romantic or not, but I think - I think it might be. And if that’s not something you’re interested in, if you just want a friendship, then that’s - that’s fine, but I would regret it a thousand times if I never asked you. If I never gave it a shot.”

Tony’s eyes are wide. “Shit,” he says finally. “Shit, you really - well, fuck yeah, Steve, of course we can go on a date -“

And Steve barely has time to process the words, barely has time to feel his heart leap in his chest before Tony is crossing the room in two big strides, plopping down on Steve’s lap, and kissing him.

His beard is scratchy and his lips are soft, and all of him is warm. It’s nothing like kissing Peggy, but Steve doesn’t know if that’s because it’s a man or because it’s  _Tony -_ this pure thrill from holding him, like electricity burning under his skin. When they finally pull back Tony is breathing hard. Steve, with the serum, shouldn’t even be slightly winded, but he feels it. He feels like all the air has left the room.

Tony smiles at him. “Let’s go on a date, soulmate,” he says. Steve pulls him close and kisses him again.

-

(There are many scars, after that. There’s old ones that Steve needs time to discover - the cut on the palm of Tony’s hand from a broken glass at a college party, a shiny patch on his knee from when he tripped in his rocket-power roller skates as a child, the jagged stitchwork mess the installation of the arc reactor left in Tony’s chest. Then there are the new ones: injuries from Tony and Steve alike, torn wrists from chains in kidnapping attempts, puckered wounds from stabs to the abdomen, even a horrible, lash-like stripe down Tony’s back from when Steve had gotten knocked down in a fight. Tony had sat at Steve’s beside for a week after that injury, even as the scar had bubbled into being on his own back.

“It’s fine,” Tony says, whenever Steve traces the scars with the tips of his fingers. “They don’t hurt, really. It’s just like a - sting. Like Neosporin in a cut.”

But that doesn’t stop Steve from kissing them better. Every time Tony gets a new scar, every time Steve finds an old one, every time he just can’t sleep, Steve goes through them - working down from Tony’s shoulders to his ankles, kissing every little mark he can find. It makes Tony shiver, even in sleep. Steve feels the warm skin under his palms, and lips, and knows he’s not alone. He’ll never be alone again.)


	155. Twist My Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets hit with a truth spell, and won't stop asking after Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get together, fluff, truth spell/confessions

“Where’s Tony?” Steve asks, for what Bucky thinks must be the fortieth time in as many minutes.

“At Stark Tower,” Bucky says again. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head before you got whammied? I’ve told you this a million times already.”

“Sorry,” Steve says, not looking very apologetic. “I have to say everything that comes to my mind, you know that.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “And you keep forgetting where he is?”

Steve shakes his head. “No, it’s just - I just think about him a lot, that’s all. I’m worried about him.”

“He didn’t get hurt at all in the fight,” Bucky points out. “There’s really nothing to worry about.”

Steve shifts on his makeshift hospital bed, paper sheets crinkling. “Yeah, well, I’m in love with him,” he says. “I always worry about him.”

Bucky sighs. “That’s the sappiest thing I’ve ever heard,” he says. “You’re lucky Stark’s not here. There’s no way you’re keeping that secret for more than five minutes if he’s in the room - you’ll start waxing poetic about his eyes or something.”

“You’re right,” Steve says. If Bucky didn’t know Steve was under the influence of a truth spell, he’d know it then - Steve Rogers is not the kind of man to admit someone else is right, at least not when that person is Bucky. “Thanks for being here, Buck. You’re a good friend.” Steve pauses for a moment. “And a dumbass. When are you going to tell Sam you’re into him, huh? It’s been ages, I’m starting to lose my mind a little waiting for the inevitable. He would say yes - I know he would.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about _,_ ” Bucky deflects. He can’t decide if he should be flattered that Steve genuinely seems to appreciate his company or offended that Steve’s ability to call him a dumbass means he actually thinks he’s stupid. “And talk about pot calling the kettle black there. You and I both know that Stark would probably shit his pants with excitement if you actually ballsed up and kissed him.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Thanks for that image, Buck, I really appreciate it.”

“What, that not the kind of image you like?”

“No,” Steve says, and Bucky realizes his mistake just as Steve is opening his mouth and continuing, “I prefer to imagine Tony naked, in my bed.”

“Well, this is awkward.”

The voice comes from the doorway, and even if he couldn’t recognize the voice, Bucky would know immediately who it was based off Steve’s suddenly pale face and wide eyes. Bucky turns, and, sure enough, there’s Tony - holding a bunch of what Bucky thinks might be green onions, looking just as spooked as Steve.

“You know those aren’t flowers, don’t you?” Bucky says, when neither Steve nor Tony says anything else.

“What?” Tony glances down at the onions in his hand, then back up to Bucky. “Yeah, I know, it’s a joke - you wanna give us a second, maybe?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky says, crossing his arms over his chest. “This going to go well?”

“I guess that’s up to Steve.”

Bucky glances over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow at Steve. “You gonna try to talk your way out of this?”

Steve sets his jaw, looking down at his hands. “I don’t think I have much of a choice,” he says, “It’s not as if I can actually say I’m  _not_ in love with him -“

He slams his hand over his mouth before he can say any more, cheeks flushing a deep pink. Bucky looks back over Tony. His mouth has fallen open, and his eyes are wide.  _“Oh,”_ he says. As if Steve had just been talking about his body before - Bucky has to suppress an eyeball. Because their Stevie is the kind of guy who likes no-strings-attached sex.

“This gonna go well?” Bucky asks again.

Tony takes a deep breath, a smile breaking out over his lips. “Yeah. It’s gonna go well. Now get the hell out of here.”

Bucky goes.


	156. Meet the (Butler) Parents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jarvis the Butler survives long enough to meet the Avengers and care for them. He doesn't like the Captain, at first, but that changes quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, get-together, outsider POV, au
> 
> commission for @ishipallthings

Jarvis doesn’t like the Captain at first.

That’s not to say he  _dislikes_ him - just more that he isn’t quite sure how to feel about the man. Sure, he’s a hero, sacrificing his life and his love to save his country, but Miss Potts had confided in Jarvis about the things he had said to Tony on the Helicarrier. And Jarvis knows that Tony’s not the easiest person to get along with, at first - God love him, but he has the kind of smart mouth that makes Jarvis want to shout at him sometimes - but he certainly didn’t deserve the hateful barbs the Captain had thrown at him.

So when Captain Rogers first visits the Tower, after renovations are complete and he has returned from what Tony tells Jarvis was a three-month-long motorcycle road trip, Jarvis greets him with nothing but a curt, “Sir,” and a quick handshake.

“Steve, this is Jarvis,” Tony says, taking over the introductions. “He’s my butler, technically, though that’s all sorts of wildly inaccurate. I prefer the term lifesaver, world-organizer, protector of these realms. He’s worked with my family ever since I was a kid. More of a dad to me than my dad ever was.”

Jarvis wasn’t expecting the last part, and cuts a glance over at Tony, eyebrow just slightly raised. Tony just looks back at him, like,  _what, you want me to lie?_

“And Jarvis, you know Cap,” Tony continues, after the pause. “Captain America. Did you two ever meet, way back when?”

“As I am constantly reminding you, Master Anthony, I am not as old as I look,” Jarvis says.

Tony grins. “Right, yeah, that would have been impressive, toddling around and butlering the Stark Mansion in the ‘40s. Though, hey, if anyone could do it, Jay, it would be you. I believe in you.”

“Your confidence is much appreciated, sir, thank you,” Jarvis says dryly, and Tony laughs.

“Anyway,” he says, turning back to the Captain, who’s watching them with almost a curious glint in his eyes. Jarvis feels somewhat defensive, but tries not to let it show on his face. He’s had a lot of practice at that from his earlier years in this profession. “Like I said, Jarvis runs everything, so if you need something, odds are he can help you out. We can get you a personal assistant, of course, if you end up needing it, and then there’s Friday, too - Fry!”

“Yes, boss?” Friday asks from the ceiling.

Tony wanders off with the Captain not long after that, blabbing about the new training facilities he’s built and how much the Captain will love the punching bags. The Captain plays right along with it, up until they make it to the elevator doorway, where he pauses, turning around to face Jarvis. “It was a pleasure to meet you, sir,” he says. Jarvis nods at him, and he seems to take that as his cue to leave, stepping into the elevator with Tony and letting the golden doors slide shut behind him.

 _Hmm,_ Jarvis thinks. He stands there, watching his own reflection in the doors, a moment longer before he snaps back into himself. He heads for the library, then, a duster in hand. The room hasn’t gotten much use of late, but he suspects it will have a new patron soon.

-

The thing is, the people in Tony’s life don’t have the best track record at being reliable, loyal friends.

There was Tiberius Stone, at MIT - not long before Tony met Colonel Rhodes, Tony had fallen into a hard and fast love affair with the boy he called ’Ty’. Jarvis had known right from the start that there was something off about him, but he had tried to ignore it, told himself he was just being paranoid. That had ended with a gay scandal hand-fed to the tabloids by none other than Tiberius himself, a furious Howard all but locking Tony into his room for weeks, and a young Tony sobbing in his bed, not even angry about the unfair punishment because he was too overwhelmed with his own heartbreak.

Jarvis had been more careful after that, but even then, he hadn’t been able to protect Tony from everything. People slipped through the cracks - Sunset Baine and her predilection for confusing love and treason; Christine Everheart, who sweet-talked her way into Tony’s house and home only to write a devastating expose that hit the stocks just as hard as Tony’s resolve; any one of Tony’s first three assistants, each of whom hurt Tony in different ways, one by stealing the rudimentary outlines of his new A.I.’s code, one by smacking Dummy with a wrench when he pissed her off, one by giving the most memorable quitting speech Jarvis has ever heard.

And then, of course, there was Obadiah. Even Jarvis didn’t think to keep an eye on him, because he had, quite simply, always been there _._ Though younger than Howard, he had been around for almost as long as Jarvis could remember, entering Howard’s life as a promising protege when Tony had only been a few years old. It had seemed too pessimistic, even for Jarvis, to think that he could possibly be a threat. But then he hired a hit on Jarvis’s boy, almost killed him once, twice, three times over, and after that, there was very few people Jarvis felt like he could trust.

So, no. Jarvis doesn’t like the Captain right away, and he doesn’t trust him either. That doesn’t last long, though. Because on the Captain’s very first night in Stark Tower, he does something unexpected: he helps Jarvis with the dishes.

“Really, I insist,” he says, waving off Tony and Jarvis’s simultaneous protests. “The cook shouldn’t have to do the cleaning, it’s not fair.”

“It is when it’s his job,” Tony points out. Jarvis shoots him a look but Tony just offers him a beatific smile in return.

“Really, I don’t mind,” the Captain says. “Honestly, I find it kind of soothing.”

Tony makes a face. “Really? What’s soothing about bits of half-eaten food in warm water? It’s gross.”

The Captain rolls his eyes. “Shut up and drink your coffee, Tony. I’ll be back in a minute.”

And so Jarvis and the Captain end up in the kitchen: side by side in front of the sink, Jarvis soaping and rinsing the plates, the Captain drying them off.

“I’m surprised you don’t have a dishwasher,” the Captain says, after they’ve worked together a few minutes in silence. “Seems like the sort of thing tech mogul Tony Stark would be all over.”

“We do, actually.” Jarvis tilts his head towards the wood-finished surface of the dishwasher. “I’ve been told it’s quite fancy - a top of the end model, really. And it’s never been used.”

The Captain laughs. He has a nice laugh, Jarvis thinks absently - genuine and warm, nothing like the sort of forced humor Jarvis so often hears from people who have to interact with the help.

“You prefer to do it the old fashioned way?”

“For some things,” Jarvis says.

They lapse back into silence after that, and Jarvis thinks their conversation is ended. They finish the dinner ceramics and silverware, and it’s not until they’re working on the cooking utensils - Jarvis scrubbing at a pot while the Captain carefully dries the individual prongs of a serving fork - that the Captain speaks again.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he says.

For a split second, Jarvis thinks he must have misheard him. He hasn’t done anything to wrong Jarvis, after all, certainly nothing that would justify an apology.

“For what, Captain?” Jarvis asks, finally, when he doesn’t continue.

“For what I said to Tony, that first day on the Helicarrier.” The Captain’s head is down, gaze locked on the serving fork he is still drying, as though there is some hidden spot of water left on it. “I was - wrong about him. Very wrong, obviously. And I’ve apologized to him, of course, but I can’t help but feel like I should apologize to you, too. To insult a man’s son is to insult him, and I’m sure you’ve heard about what I said. I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

Jarvis blinks down at the soapy dishwater. This - was not something he was expecting. He’s not sure anyone has ever so sincerely apologized for something they said to Tony - even Pepper and Rhodey err on the side of jokes and unspoken apologies when they overstep - let alone apologized to  _Jarvis_ for something they said to Tony.  _To insult a man’s son,_ the Captain said, as though he truly sees Jarvis as Tony’s caretaker and guardian, not only a nanny. How rare is that?

“There is nothing to apologize for, Captain,” Jarvis says. “As I understand it, the barbs went both ways in that fight. And certainly many people have said much worse to Mr. Stark.”

The Captain just frowns. “That doesn’t make it right,” he says, and, well - Jarvis can’t exactly disagree with him there.

“I appreciate the sentiment, Captain,” Jarvis says. “And I’m sure Mr. Stark appreciated it as well. Now set that fork aside and pick up that pan, these dishes won’t dry themselves.”

Steve smiles and does just that.

That’s the start.

-

Though Steve is the first of the Avengers to move into the Tower, he’s certainly not the last. Natasha is the next to arrive, only a few weeks after Steve, carrying with her nothing but the clothes on her back and a set of expensive-looking knives that Jarvis really doesn’t know where she was storing. Clint arrives the day after that, as though drawn in by her perfume, and then Thor decides to come stay while he’s on Earth, searching for some ancient, magical artifiact. Bruce is last, arriving weeks after Thor and only staying a few nights at a time before flitting off again, sometimes to India and sometimes to a cheap motel across the River, but eventually, someone must get it into his head that he’s safe here, because the visits become longer and the vacations shorter, and soon he’s at the Tower nine nights out of ten.

It’s surprising, how easily things slot into place. The team just seems to gel together. Right from the beginning, they’re laughing together at group meals, training together in the gym, and occasionally Natasha will organize a group movie night that Jarvis makes special snacks for and occasionally attends. He’s not privy to it all, of course, and he knows they argue often enough too, but it’s still obvious to him: they’re becoming, slowly but surely, something of a family.

And yet, no matter how many other Avengers move in, no matter how many responsibilities Tony has, no matter how busy he gets, Tony always makes the time for Steve. They easily spend the most time together out of any of the Avengers, save possibly Natasha and Clint, who Jarvis suspects may secretly be actually be twins who were separated at birth. Sparring, sketching, stargazing - you name it, they do it, the whole time laughing and casual and pretending they’re not sneaking looks during pauses in conversation.

Or Tony is, at least. Because that’s the thing: Jarvis may not know Steve that well, not yet, but he certainly knows Tony, and he knows what Tony looks like when he’s interested in someone. He’s got an expression just for it, an expression that has featured on covers of magazines and in Playgirl spreads but which Jarvis learned long before any of that, when Tony was only just beginning to grow hair in his armpits. At first, it was just his interested expression, a casual acknowledgement that Steve is, indeed, the peak of human perfection, but over time, it gets more serious. The looks turn desperate, almost longing, to the point where Jarvis feels a little embarrassed just looking at them. He thinks, often, that Tony is lucky to have fallen for a man who’s just as clueless as he is emotionally, because anyone with half a lick of common sense would see it in a moment.

It’s even more obvious when Steve gets injured.

It’s not too bad of an injury, all things considered. Jarvis doesn’t have all the details, of course, but Natasha had called him with an update from the hospital and from what she said, Jarvis thinks it’s mainly superficial, the only actual problem being a shattered ulna. It’s not a  _good_ injury to have, for sure, but considering Steve is a super soldier and his bones heal in a week at most, it’s certainly not life threatening.

One would think it was, though, based on Tony’s reaction. Jarvis doesn’t come to visit when Steve is in the hospital, since they say it will be less than twenty-four hours, but he’s there when Steve arrives home the afternoon following the fight. He looks good, all things considered; his arm is in a cast and cradled to his chest, but he’s smiling, and his cheeks are just as rosy with life as ever. Tony, though, looks positively sick, flitting around behind Steve like a hummingbird, moving things out of his way and touching his shoulder constantly, like he’s worried Steve will disappear if he doesn’t maintain a grip on him.

“I’m doing good,” Steve says when Jarvis asks. “Really, just a bit tired. Need energy to heal and all that. Would you mind if I go take a nap?”

Jarvis assures him it’s fine, and Steve disappears to his room, Tony still trailing after him: probably to fluff his pillow, Jarvis thinks ruefully. He returns to his post in the kitchen, where he had been making chicken soup and homemade bread. He thinks it might be nice to have some jam, too, and pulls out some blackberries. He’s just adding the sugar to the fruit mash when Tony appears in the doorway, slumping forward to slouch at the kitchen table.

“Is the Captain asleep?” Jarvis asks, stirring in a packet of gelatin.

“Yeah,” Tony sighs. “Conked out as soon as his head hit the pillow. I don’t think he slept much last night.”

Jarvis raises an eyebrow. “Does he not like hospitals?”

“Doesn’t like strange places,” Tony says.

Jarvis nods. That makes more sense, he thinks. He imagines waking up in a new century, when everything in the world except your own body has changed, and thinks that might put someone off new places just a little.

“He didn’t seem very concerned about his injuries,” Jarvis notes, placing a lid over the jam’s saucepan and moving on to the soup. He takes a taste; almost ready. Just needs a few more minutes.

Tony snorts. “He never is. That man could take a bullet to the heart and he’d insist through bloody teeth that it’ll be healed by the morning.” He sighs. “He doesn’t know how to take care of himself.”

“It’s a good thing he has you to do it for him, then,” Jarvis says.

“Now, Jarvis, is that a passive aggressive tone I hear? Don’t forget who your boss is, I can deck your paychecks, you know.”

Jarvis ignores him. “Have you told him yet?” he asks.

“Told who what?”

“Told the Captain that you’re in love with him.”

Tony’s mouth falls open. “I’m - what? No, I’m not. Why would you say that, Jarvis, I’m not -“ He looks around furtively, drops his voice to a hissing whisper, “I’m not  _in love with him,_ why would you say that?”

Jarvis turns to raise an eyebrow at him. Tony maintains the facade for a whole ten seconds before it falls off his face and he slumps back into his chair. “How did you know?”

“I’ve known you your entire life, sir,” Jarvis says, turning to slide on oven mitts as the bread timer dings. He pulls the loaf out of the oven; a perfect, crispy golden brown. “I know what you look like when you’re in love. Have you told him?”

“No.” Tony crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not dumb. he’s from the forties, you know, they didn’t have gay people then, and even if they did, he wouldn’t be interested in  _me.”_

“You don’t know that,” Jarvis says. “And he seems like the kind of man who needs a neon sign to know what’s going on. Just think about it. And come here and dish yourself up a plate, dinner’s ready.”

“I thought it was your job to dish me up a plate,” Tony says, even as he rises from the chair.

“I can’t do everything, sir, much as I may try.”

Tony rolls his eyes but grabs a bowl. They eat dinner together, just the two of them - a rare phenomenon, nowadays - and they talk the whole time, but neither of them brings up Steve. It’s for the best, Jarvis thinks - Tony has always needed his time, thinking things like this over, and Jarvis has missed meals like this, anyway.

-

After that, Jarvis pays more attention to Steve.

Not that he wasn’t paying attention already, of course, but it’s a more deliberate sort of looking, now. Now, he’s searching for one thing and one thing only: romantic affection for Tony. He certainly loves him, at least platonically; he’s referred to Tony as his best friend more than once when Jarvis was within earshot, and he’s become something of a right hand for Jarvis when it comes to taking care of Tony, bringing him sandwiches and coffees and occasionally forcibly removing him from the workshop when he’s dead on his feet and needs to sleep or else risk hurting himself.

But none of those things indicate inherently romantic feelings on Steve’s part, especially considering he grew up decades ago, back when, as Jarvis can personally attest, men were much more openly affectionate with friends. Sometimes, Jarvis thinks there is something about the way he looks at Tony, something in his eyes - but it’s not concrete evidence.

He spends a few weeks ruminating over it, but despite his best efforts he doesn’t get any closer to a conclusion. He has two options, at that point: give up on the pursuit, and hope Tony and Steve are able to work it out the situation to their mutual benefit without his input, or confront Steve. He dismisses the former idea almost immediately -  _Tony,_ working through emotional problems without Jarvis’s help? please - and so settles on the latter.

He decides to bring the issue up one night after the team has had dinner. Everyone but Steve has drifted off into the living room, where they’re arguing about what to put on TV - Bruce wants Adventure Time, Natasha’s fighting for Inception, and Tony is arguing passionately for a re-showing of Pride and Prejudice, probably because he knows it’s Steve’s favorite modern movie. Steve has hung behind, like he so often does, to help Jarvis clear the table, do the dishes, and pack away the leftovers of the meal.

“Do you think Thor secretly has multiple stomaches?” Steve muses, as he doles the leftover lasagna - barely a single square, despite the fact Jarvis made two huge, party-sized pans - into a Tupperware. “I feel like he needs somewhere else to be storing all this food.”

“You know, Mr. Stark has made that exact same comment to me before,” Jarvis says. It’s true - he’d said so after what Jarvis thinks was Thor’s third dinner with the team. It was maybe a more crude, unflattering comment, with a greater emphasis on parallels with cows, but the same sentiment nonetheless.

Steve laughs. “I guess he’s rubbing off on me, huh?”

“It seems like it,” Jarvis agrees. “But I suppose there are worse fates in the world.”

“Oh, definitely,” Steve says. He licks a stray glob of sauce off his thumb and shuffles the leftovers into the refrigerator, then moves to clear the condiments from the table. “Tony’s a good man, I’d be lucky to be more like him.”

Jarvis hums. A positive review, yes, but not the sort of thing Jarvis is looking for. “Most people would say it should be the other way around.”

Steve huffs. “Most people don’t know Tony,” he says. “He’s - he’s really the best man I know. Kind and generous and smart and funny - really. I’m surprised nobody’s snapped him up yet.”

 _Jackpot,_ Jarvis thinks, with no small degree of glee. Jarvis hadn’t even had to hint at romance, and Steve’s mind had gone straight there - what does that tell him?

He manages to keep a straight face and continues washing dishes as if nothing has happened. “You do know homosexuality is legal, now, don’t you?”

Jarvis manages to keep the question casual, but still, Steve jumps, cheeks reddening. “What?” he asks, voice high. He coughs, and when he speaks again, he sounds normal, if still slightly panicked. “I - why is that relevant?”

Jarvis shrugs. “Maybe you should Google Mr. Stark’s sexuality,” Jarvis says. “I know he generally prefers his friends not to look him up online, but I think, in this instance, he will forgive you.”

“I - I thought he wouldn’t like people looking into all the women.”

“I’m not talking about the women,” Jarvis says.

“I -“ Steve seems to be actively fumbling for words, not unlike a beta fish gaping for air, and Jarvis takes pity on him.

“It’s all right,” he says. “You don’t have to do anything tonight. I just wanted to point it out.”

Steve blinks a moment longer. “Right,” he says. “I - well, I should be -“ He jerks his thumb towards the living room. The dishes aren’t done, and the table isn’t fully cleared, but Jarvis still waves him away.

“Have a nice evening, Captain,” he calls after him as he goes.

“You - uh, you, too, Jarvis!” Steve yells back. Even from a distance, he sounds faintly stunned.

Jarvis shakes his head and goes back to the dishes. A small smile curls his lips;  _soon,_ he thinks.  _Soon_.

-

 _Soon,_ was overly optimistic; Jarvis should have known. Nothing with Tony Stark involved can ever function as planned, and despite Jarvis’s subtle machinations, a week passes without anything improving. Then another. Steve and Tony’s furtive glances only grow more frequent and more longing, to the point where it seems the other Avengers are debating getting involved as well; one morning, Steve and Tony brush into each other in front of the coffeepot, and each mumble half a dozen apologies at the contact, cheeks flushing pink. Natasha, standing beside them, looks like she wants to bang their heads together until they kiss, and Jarvis - Jarvis really can’t blame her.

He’s just beginning to debate another round of hinting - less subtle this time, maybe, though he wasn’t exactly very cautious last time, and he’s not sure how much more obvious he can get, short of shouting  _you two are in love with each other, go kiss in a room other than this one -_ when it happens. Jarvis is in the living room, sweeping up embers that drifted out from the fireplace, when Steve and Tony stumble into the room. They’re both beaming - pink-cheeked and crinkle-eyed, swaying towards each other as they walk. Tony has a hickey on his neck, Jarvis notices immediately. And Steve’s lips look red, almost bruised.

“Jarvis!” Tony says, perking up when he sees him. “We were just looking for you. We, uh, we have news.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “We, uh - well -“ He seems to give up on words, and raises a hand to wrap around Tony’s waist. Tony’s smile grows a little bigger, though he bites his lip as if trying to hide it.

Jarvis smiles, too. “I’m happy for you two,” he said. “But you better not get up to anything in my kitchen, you hear me? Friday’s watching you.”

Tony laughs. “All right, old man.”

“Thank you, Jarvis,” Steve interrupts, before Jarvis can come back at that with a snappy retort. “Really. We - this wouldn’t have happened without you. Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Tony says, jerking a thumb towards Steve. “What he said. Hey, you wanna watch a movie with us? We were gonna see Pride and Prejudice.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Tony, we don’t have to watch that every time just because I said I liked it -“

“Nope, too late, decision’s made, sorry, babe. Jarvis?”

Jarvis smiles. “No, thank you, sir. I have cleaning to do. Do let me know if you need anything, though.”

He pauses in the doorway when he slips away, just out of their eyesight. They’re chatting as they settle on the couch together, Tony tucked up against Steve’s side, Steve’s arm slung over Tony’s shoulders. Tony seems happy and light in a way he hasn’t seemed in months; in a way, Jarvis thinks, he’s seldom seen Tony at all. He watches them a moment longer, then, as the opening credits start to play on the screen - Tony and Steve still bickering over the background music - he slips away. He’ll go make them popcorn, he thinks. They’d like that.

Jarvis hadn’t like Steve at first, no. He hadn’t trusted him either. But now - well. Now he knows - this one is different.


	157. Camp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony get invited to the Met Gala: Camp Edition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, this is very similar to chapter 64. i may or may not have forgotten i wrote chapter 64 until after i wrote this. whoops. consider them separate universes versions of Steve and Tony going to the met gala, I guess?

“Of all the years for us to get invited, of course this is the one. I swear you did it on purpose.”

Tony raises an eyebrow at Steve in the bathroom mirror. He’s already dressed, a full hour before they’re even set to leave for the gala, because his makeup tonight is, as he informs Steve, an extravagant work of art that requires extravagant time allotments accordingly.

“I didn’t have to. The theme is camp, and we’re gay; Anna would have to be dumb not to invite us. And, clearly, she’s not dumb.”

Steve frowns down at his tie. It’s a relatively simple thing, a silky, burnished red accented with watercolor-like stripes of gold. It’s not something Steve would wear often to an event, but it is something he’d wear, maybe even something he’d pick out himself at a store. That in itself feels off to him. If he’s really dressing ‘camp’, shouldn’t he be wearing something that makes him feel like a peacock on display?

“You don’t like your tie?”

Steve glances back over at Tony, but he’s not looking at Steve, instead giving his own reflection all his attention as he smears a glittery, golden shadow over his eyelid.

“I don’t dislike my tie,” Steve says, looking back down at it. “I like the colors”

“But you don’t like the tie.”

Steve says nothing. It feels stupid, to get upset or concerned about an outfit that someone with more style experience than Steve will ever have spent hours picking out and designing. 

Steve doesn’t realize Tony’s moved until he feels a warm hand sliding up his forearm. “We can get you a different tie,” Tony says.

“But then it wouldn’t match my outfit,” Steve says half-heartedly.

“Honey, it doesn’t  _have_ to match,” Tony says with a smile. Steve mirrors it, but he knows it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Tony, astute as ever, notices. “How about this, then - how about a whole new outfit? Something you pick out.”

“The gala’s in an hour, Tony,” Steve points out, but he’s grinning more genuinely now.

“Pffh.” Tony waves a hand through the air. “I’m Tony Stark. If you want a new outfit, we can get you a new outfit.”

“It’s okay,” Steve says, “Really, it’s not a big deal -”

“Honey,” Tony interrupts. “Sweetheart. You know I love you, but I gotta say, that outfit? Not exactly screaming camp. I didn’t want to offend you, but, really, we gotta jazz it up a little bit or your reputation as a gay man and my reputation as style icon will be ruined.”

“If you really don’t mind,” Steve says.

“Of course I don’t.” Tony grabs Steve’s collar in one hand and tugs him forward so he can press a quick kiss to Steve’s mouth. His make-up is only half done, and up close, it looks strange, one eye caught in a glimmering golden triangle, the accentuated only by under-eye circles. “This is going to be fun. Now, I’m thinking a feather boa -”

Steve laughs, and lets Tony tug him along into their closet.

-

They end up stealing the show at the red carpet. Tony, in his well-planned ensemble - the golden eyes, the bright red lips, his sequined, flowing button-down, top hat, and geometrically-accented cape - but, Steve, too. His outfit is more obviously thrown together, for sure, but, Steve thinks, no less camp. His pants are tight, a relatively simple deep grey, and his shirt is a plain white, but that’s the only simple thing about his clothes tonight. Like Tony, he’s wearing extensive makeup - an ombre red and orange gradient around his eyes, a delicate blush on his cheeks and a positively glimmering gloss on his lips - and he wears a long jacket whose coattails reach almost to his knees. On the back, embroidered in careful stitches, are the words  _SUPERQUEEROES._ The kicker is the belt - not really a belt at all, it’s a shimmering golden boa that hangs loose over his thighs. The media goes nuts. 

Tony gets a photo from one of the paparazzi the next day and frames it.


	158. Puppy Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re not supposed to play back here.”
> 
> “Yeah?” Steve demands. “Who says?”
> 
> “Jarvis,” the boy says, as if Steve should know who that is. “He says there’s nasty animals out here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> commission for @ishipallthings
> 
> fluff, get-together, childhood friendship au, proposal

“You’re not supposed to play back here.”

Steve startles, knocking into the branch above him and rustling the leaves. He hadn’t known anyone else even knew these woods were here - they were supposed to be Steve’s secret woods, tucked away behind the Walmart where his Ma worked, a place he’s never seen another person.

Steve whirls around, hands on his hips. “Yeah?” he demands. “Who says?”

Steve’s accuser blinks at him. He’s a boy, about Steve’s age. That’s where the similarities end, though - unlike Steve, the boy is dark-haired, and wearing nice black slacks and an expensive-looking sweater. His shoes are shiny and clean, like they’ve just been polished.

“Jarvis,” the boy says, as if Steve should know who that is. “He says there’s nasty animals out here.”

“There’s no nasty animals,” Steve protests. He feels the need to defend his adopted home -  _he’s_ the only one who can call it dirty. “And there’s no poison ivy either, my Ma checked.”

The boy raises an eyebrow. “Your Ma knows you’re out here?”

Steve frowns. “‘Course. Doesn’t yours?”

The boy looks down at his feet, scuffing one perfectly manicured shoe in the dirt. “My Mama’s in Singapore,” he says. “So’s my Dad.”

“Where’s Singapore? Is that over by New Jersey?”

The boy shakes his head. “No, it’s all the way on the other side of the world.”

“Whoah,” Steve breathes. “And they didn’t take you?”

“Nah,” the boy says. He sounds casual but he’s not looking Steve in the eye. “They never take me. It’s business stuff. They’ll be back in a few weeks. Anyway, they left me with Jarvis, but sine he’s gotta take care of me the whole time he didn’t have time to get the groceries this week. He’s in that big store over there.” The boy jerks his thumb in the direction of the Walmart.

“Yeah, that’s where my Ma works,” Steve says. “He knows you’re out here, though, right? My Ma says we always gotta tell the grown-ups where we’re going so they don’t worry.”

The boy bites his lip. “No, but if I told him where I was going he wouldn’t let me.”

“We should probably go find him, then,” Steve says. “I bet he won’t think to look for ya out here, and then he’d get all stressed and I read in a magazine that if grown-ups get stressed out they can have a heart attack, which means they die.” The boy continues to frown, and so Steve steps forward, hand out for a shake. “My name’s Steve. My Ma calls me Stevie but you definitely shouldn’t.”

The boy’s frown turns into a sliver of a smile. “I’m Tony,” the boy says, taking Steve’s hand. He shakes it two curt pumps, then tries to drop it, but Steve holds on.

“Come on, Tony,” Steve says, tugging him towards the path that leads into the woods from the Walmart parking lot. “Let’s go save Jarvis’s heart.”

-

“We should get married,” Tony announces, one afternoon some months later, when he and Steve are lounging in front of the TV in Steve and his Ma’s tiny little apartment, watching cartoons.

Steve frowns, popping a chip into his mouth. His Ma doesn’t know that they have these snacks, and it makes Steve feel a little guilty, but Tony managed to convince him that it was a small thing, and, besides, they taste so  _good._

“That’s just for grown-ups,” he says.

“Says who?” Tony retorts. “ _My_ Mama says getting married is for people who love each other and wanna do everything together forever. And that’s us, right?”

“Well,  _duh,”_ Steve says before Tony can get that worried look he sometimes gets when he thinks Steve doesn’t want to hang out with him anymore. It’s stupid, but no matter what Steve tells him it never goes away entirely. “But I’m pretty sure you have to be a grown-up to get married. And, ‘sides, we can’t afford rings.”

Tony tilts his head. “Do you think rings are important?”

Steve nods quickly. “Oh, definitely,” he says. “My Ma takes real good care of her ring, she says it’s the most important thing she has, ‘sides me. And my Da’s not even here anymore.”

Tony nods, brow still furrowed in consideration. “Okay, then,” he says. “What about when we’re older? And we can get rings?”

“We can definitely get married then.”

Tony beams at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve promises, reaching over to dig Tony’s hand out from under the blankets and give it a tight squeeze. It’s cold despite the fact it’s been half-buried under Steve’s thigh; the hazards of hanging out in an apartment with a radiator that’s broken as often as it’s functioning. “I promise. When we’re, like - twelve, or something.”

“Okay,” Tony agrees happily, settling into Steve’s side. “You better not forget, though.”

“How could I?” Steve asks, returning his gaze to the TV. “I’ve got you to remind me.”

-

And he does - for a few more years.

But then, a few days after Steve turns eleven, Tony’s mother dies in a car accident.  _It’s just horrible,_ Steve’s Ma says when she hears.  _You have to be patient with him, okay, Stevie? Be there for him. This is something no kid should have to deal with._

Steve gulps and nods. Even just the thought of his Ma not being there anymore - not coming home from work to make him warm stew and fresh bread, not guiding Steve to bed with a light hand on his shoulder and tucking him in under a heavy quilt, not enveloping Steve in her warm, soft arms when Steve’s tired and sad and needs a shoulder to cry on -

That in itself makes his little heart break.

He resigns himself to be the best friend Tony can have, better than ever before, and he even goes hunting for wildflowers in the woods to give to Tony the next time he sees him. The only problem is, he doesn’t see him. The flowers wilt on Steve’s nightstand in their improvised McDonald’s vase, and it’s only after they’re dead that his Ma tells him that Tony’s not coming back; his dad has decided to take him to the West Coast to live, now that his mother’s not here.

 _But it’s not fair,_ Steve had said, brow furrowed.  _What about me, what about his school friends -_

And Steve’s Ma had sighed and wrapped her arm around his shoulders.  _I know, sweetheart. I know it seems rough. But you can write him letters, and maybe, if things change, you can go see him next fall._

Steve does write the letters, and Tony writes back, too, but it’s not the same as before. Something’s different, something Steve can’t put his finger on. Eventually, Tony’s replies come slower, and then so do Steve’s, and at some point, the letters just - stop.

Steve makes other friends. His new neighbor, Bucky, goes to the same school as Steve, and with him Steve finally gets the experience of having a best friend with whom he can complain about school bullies, annoying teachers, the wasps under the picnic tables on the playground. High school rolls around, and their posse expands - adopting Bucky’s new girlfriend, Natasha, and her best friend Clint, plus a boy named Sam who Steve meets in P.E. class and takes a liking to immediately. Last to join is Thor, a big, burly Swedish exchange student who, Steve thinks, likes to pretend not to understand American culture just so he can watch the others, flustered, try to explain it.

So Steve moves on. But no matter how many new friends he gets, no matter how much he loves and appreciates them, he never quite forgets Tony. There’s something about your first best friend, after all, that sticks around, that uncomplicated sort of comradeship, and Steve can’t help but wonder, sometimes, what it would have been like if Tony had stayed in New York. Maybe they’d still be best friends now - maybe Steve’s life would have been entirely different. Tony always did have a way of introducing Steve to exciting, brand-new things Steve hadn’t even known existed.

But it doesn’t do to dwell on it. Steve doesn’t have any way to get in touch with Tony, not anymore - he suspects the  _tony.robot.stark@gmail.com_ address he had been using when they last emailed might have fallen to the wayside - and who even knows if Tony would want to talk to Steve if he could? Maybe Steve is exaggerating their relationship in hindsight; maybe, to Tony, Steve is just an old childhood acquaintance he scarcely cares to remember.

So, no, Steve never thinks to try to contact Tony. In the end, it’s the universe that makes the decision for him, one sunny fall afternoon during Steve’s senior year of college when he’s on his way to the art store to pick up a wooden frame to replace one for a canvas he just broke.

When he sees him, the first thing he thinks is  _gorgeous._ The man has curly dark hair that looks soft even from a distance, and a sharp, clean jawline. He’s slender but clearly muscled, and when he looks up from his phone and meets Steve’s gaze, Steve learns his eyes are a warm, deep brown. He gets so caught up in them, thinking about how he’d like to paint them, about what shades would create that deep effect, that he forgets to get out of the way and bumps right into him.

“Shit,” Steve says, reaching out to steady the man by the shoulders as he stumbles. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to -“

“Steve?”

Those brown eyes are suddenly wide where they meet Steve’s. The voice sounds familiar, but it still takes Steve a second to match it with that of the little, dark-haired boy he’d met so long ago in the forest behind a Walmart.

“ _Tony?”_

“In the flesh,” Tony says. It sounds automatic, a canned response, but he’s smiling as he says it and that, at least, seems genuine. “Man, what’s it been, ten years?”

“Eleven,” Steve corrects automatically, and then blushes. “Not that I, uh, was counting or anything, it’s just -“

“It’s fine,” Tony interrupts before Steve can twist himself into any more knots. His voice is warm. “It’s good to see you. I didn’t know you moved out to Boston.”

“Yeah, came out here a few years ago for school,” Steve says. “I go to MassArt, now. Just finishing up my senior year.”

“Wow,” Tony says, eyebrows raised. “That’s a good school, you must be talented.”

“Well,” Steve says. He can feel himself blushing a light pink, but he’s always hated compliments. “Where did you end up going? Harvard? You always were so smart.”

“MIT,” Tony corrects. “You know me, all about those robots.”

Steve laughs. “Yeah,” he says. “Well, hey, if you’re here for a while, maybe we could get coffee some time? I’d love to catch up somewhere that isn’t the middle of the sidewalk.”

Tony glances around at the commuters brushing past them on either side and laughs. “Good point,” he agrees. “What about Piccolo’s Coffee? They’re open until nine.”

“Now?” Steve asks, surprised. He half-expected Tony to brush him off, promise some time in the distant future that would never actually come.

Now it’s Tony’s turn to look a little sheepish. “Of course, if you’re busy -“

“No,” Steve interrupts, before Tony can get any further. “Now’s good. Great, actually. You want to lead the way?”

Tony grins. “Sure. Follow me.”

-

Steve learns a lot about Tony that day.

First that, while Steve had assumed Tony was, like Steve, finishing up work on his Bachelor’s Degree, he apparently completed that six years ago, and is now putting the finishing touches on his third Master’s. “Dad says I have to come work for the company after this,” Tony says, casually, while Steve gapes. “Still, it was fun while it lasted. I always liked school.”

Steve also discovers Tony’s worrying passionate love for coffee, his hatred of muffins, and his devotion to blabbering at a thousand miles an hour until he runs out of breath and has to pause to take a shuddering gasp. Tony tells Steve about the friends he made at M.I.T. -  both figuratively (Rhodey, Pepper, Bruce) and literally (Dummy, Butterfingers, and You). He also updates Steve on Jarvis, who apparently retired when Tony was accepted in M.I.T. and moved to Boston alongside him to take a job as a chef in a high-end restaurant.

In turn, Steve tells Tony about himself - about his Ma, about Bucky and Natasha and Sam, about the work he’s doing at art school and his part time job bussing in a different fancy restaurant. Their conversation seems to pass in a blink of an eye, but in reality, it lasts hours, and only ends when Tony gets a series of phone calls that ends with a quick apology and a business card pressed into Steve’s palm.

“I really have to go,” he says. “But, please, call me sometime. I’d really like to do this again.”

And it’s so genuine - his smile so warm, eyes so bright - that Steve doesn’t even consider turning him down. He takes the card - which reads  _Tony Stark, Robotics Master, So Wise in the Ways of Science,_ that makes Steve laugh, remembering afternoons spent memorizing  _Monty Python_ dialogue in the grungy old apartment of Steve’s childhood - and stuffs in it in his wallet. Later that night, he pulls out his phone and dials the number. Tony answers on the second ring, and they make plans to go out only the next day.

In hindsight, it’s obvious, but Steve manages to make it through half a dozen dates before he realizes that that’s what they are - dates. He skids to a stop where they’re walking through Central Park -  _arm in arm,_ for fucks sake - and forces Tony to stop beside him.

“Steve?” Tony asks, frowning. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m an idiot,” Steve says, turning to face Tony. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” Tony asks, but there’s a recognition dawning there, too.

“I’m such an idiot,” Steve says again, and kisses him before he can escape.

Within two months of that day - which they decide to christen the official start of their relationship, despite the clear groundwork that was laid beforehand - Tony’s not only met Steve’s entire group of friends but also been reintroduced to Steve’s mother. Because while Steve knows they haven’t been dating long, it feels like it’s been years and years, as though their friendship had never ended when they were young.

So it’s not shocking to anyone that, by the time six months rolls around, Steve is already planning to propose. What’s a little more shocking is that Steve doesn’t get the chance to before Tony drops to one knee in the middle of a crowded bar.

“Steve,” Tony says, as their friends hoot and holler around them. It’s early evening, and they’re downtown, celebrating everyone’s impending graduation. As of next week, Steve will be a college graduate - and, he thinks with a thrill, as he stares into Tony’s deep, shining eyes, he’ll be an engaged man, too. “I love you more than anything in this world. I know this is fast, but I’ve been told if you find something good you should hold on to it. Well, you’re my something good, and I like to think I’m yours too. I’m already the happiest man in the world, but I’m greedy, so I’m asking: do me a favor and say you’ll be my husband?”

Steve’s pretty sure he’s beaming like an idiot right now, but he doesn’t care. He has to swallowed hard before he can speak, doing his best to keep his voice level and steady. “I wish I could,” he says, mostly managing to keep his voice from shaking, “But I’m already a promised man. Someone beat you to the punch about - oh, fifteen years ago, now?”

“Sixteen,” Tony corrects, his smile just as wide.

“Sixteen years,” Steve nods. “That’s kind of a long engagement, don’t you think?”

“Kind of,” Tony agrees. “Guess we better not let it get any longer.”

“Guess not,” Steve says, and tugs Tony up so he can wrap his arms around Tony’s waist. “How far away is City Hall?”

“Dunno,” Tony says. “Someone, minions, Google it,” and he doesn’t wait for an answer before he kisses him.

In the end, one week later when Steve walks across the graduation stage to accept his diploma, his family and friends all cheering in the background, he’s not an engaged man. He’s a married one.


	159. (Steve Fucked) Peggy's Godson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Steve fucked Peggy's godson!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for a request by anon; inspired by this comic: https://nasafic.tumblr.com/post/184871179740/tunastorks-spies-and-secret-agents-au-where
> 
> 22-jump street au, fluff

Bucky gets tipped off that something fishy’s going on when Steve starts strapping on a Kevlar vest in the middle of Peggy’s office.

He frowns. “Are you wearing Kevlar?” Why would Steve be wearing Kevlar in the middle of the office? Bucky glances up from his vest to his face. It can be hard to tell, sometimes - he actually has a decent poker face, when he wants to - but Steve looks a little worried. Bucky’s pretty sure he even sees a bead of sweat on his brow, and he hasn’t sweated since sophomore year of college, when a growth spurt combined with a newfound dedication to exercise led to what Bucky sometimes suspects is superhuman stamina.

“Gentlemen,” Peggy interrupts, before either Steve can respond or Bucky can hound him again. “We’re not gonna sit here and pretend there’s not a blood elephant in the room.”

Peggy looks - pissed, Bucky notices. She’s standing behind her desk, hands braced on top of it like she’s preparing to launch herself at them, and she’s wearing her all-business frown, not the usual all-business-except-I-like-Steve-so-a-little-nicer frown.

“What the fuck is going on?” Bucky wonders aloud. He glances towards Steve, who still just looks afraid, then back at Peggy. “Anyone want to clue me in?”

Peggy’s glare turns to him. “ _This_ is what the fuck is going on.” And she reaches out and turns one of the picture frames at the corner of her desk so that Bucky can see it.

It’s Tony. It’s kind of a weird shot - a selfie, and Bucky always hates it when people frame selfies, because they’re not  _for_ that, but whatever - and Bucky thinks he might be wearing makeup or a Snapchat filter, but otherwise, it’s just a standard photo. It’s so normal that Bucky is just turning to Steve to ask for clarification when he realizes - that’s  _Tony._ Tony, the guy Steve’s been flirting with for days. Tony, one of their marks on this new undercover mission. Tony, in a photo framed on Peggy’s desk, which can only mean one thing:

He’s the elusive godson.

“Oh,  _shit,”_ Bucky breathes. Then, again, with more enthusiasm: “Oh, shit!”

Steve is still staring straight ahead at Peggy, like a prisoner awaiting his execution, but Bucky can’t help it. He bursts out laughing. “You fucked Peggy’s godson! Oh my god, I can’t believe you actually - Nat! Nat, did you hear this? What the fuck?”

“ _Nat’s not in,”_ Sam yells from down the hall.

“Then you come here, dipshit, Steve fucked Peggy’s godson! Are you listening to me?”

“ _Wait, what?”_

"Steve fucked Peggy's godson!"

There's a choked noise and a sound like coffee splashing onto the tile. "He did  _what_ now?"

"I know, right? It's like Hell has frozen over, oh my God, Stevie, you are fucking  _screwed -"_

"That's enough, now." Peggy's voice is firm and commanding, just like always, and, just like always, it stops Bucky in his tracks. "Sergeant Barnes, sit your ass back down."

Bucky obeys, but he’s still grinning, shooting glances at Steve every few seconds He’s as red as a cherry tomato. This may be the best day of Bucky’s life.

"And I thought you had a hangup over Peggy,” Bucky sighs. It’s quiet enough that he’s pretty sure Peggy doesn’t hear, but still, Steve clenches his fist in that way that makes the muscles in his bicep pop. It’s really no wonder all of Steve’s enemies want to fuck him, when he looks this hot when he’s mad.

"Now, I don't want anyone else hearing about this," Peggy orders. "My baby Tony is innocent and I won't let his reputation be ruined by the likes of you. You will kindly break off whatever -  _relationship_ you have with him and never speak to him again. You understand?"

Steve squares his jaw.  _Oh, no,_ Bucky thinks.  _Here it comes._

"With all due respect, ma'am, I will not be doing that."

Peggy’s eyebrow is getting dangerously close to her hairline, Bucky thinks, as he watches her stare down Steve. Any moment now it’ll just disappear right into her scalp, poof, and then Peggy will have something to be  _even_ madder about, if that’s even possible.

“What was that, Rogers?”

Steve, damn him, doesn’t take the hint, just squares his shoulders a little more. “I said I won’t be doing that. Tony is a good man, and I - I care about him. He deserves more than to be dumped just because I happen to have a professional relationship with his godmother.”

“Oh, yeah?” Peggy challenges. “Then how about because you’re lying to him about everything? Your age, your name, your profession - everything!”

Steve swallows. “I’m not.”

 _Oh boy,_ Bucky thinks. He’s not sure he’s ever seen the vein in Peggy’s temple jump like that. Someone is going to die today - Peggy from a coronary, or Steve from a gunshot to the dick. “Rogers,” Peggy grits. “Are you telling me that you  _blew your cover?”_

“It was Tony!” Steve protests. “You know damn well he wasn’t going to tell anyone anything, he’s  _your_ godson -“

“Oh, so you knew that, too?”

“I’m not afraid of you!” Steve shouts. Peggy stares at him. Steve swallows. “Okay, I’m pretty afraid of you,” he admits. “But I care about Tony more. And no matter what you say or do, nothing’s going to change the fact that it was worth it. I don’t regret my decision one bit, and, frankly, you can’t make me. Ma’am.”

He adds the honorary as though an afterthought. It does absolutely nothing to mitigate the complete irreverence of what he’s just said; and yet, Peggy being Peggy, she stares down Steve a second longer, and then she sighs. Her shoulders don’t visibly move, but at the same time, it’s as though her strings have been cut; suddenly, Bosswoman Peggy is gone, and Peggy, friend and hero and so-fucking-tired-your-bullshit Peggy, is back.

“You know, I could fire you for this if I wanted to,” Peggy says, as she settles back into her chair.

“You could,” Steve agrees. “But I don’t think you will.”

Peggy sighs again. “I’ll need to speak to my godson about this, you know.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Steve says. He pauses a moment, before continuing, “But if he backs up what I said -“

“Then you can keep your job,” Peggy says, almost grudgingly. “But if I catch so much of a  _hint_ that you pressured him, or lied to him -“

“Then I would deserve everything coming to me,” Steve says quickly. “I know.”

Peggy shakes her head. “You’re a pain in my ass,” she says. “You know that, Rogers?”

“More like a pain in  _Tony’s_ ass,” Bucky mutters. Steve elbows him - and, God, how does a man that big and burly manage to have such sharp elbows? Sometimes Bucky thinks it’s the only part of his body that didn’t change when he had his college growth spurt - but it’s too little, too late. Bucky’s never been good at keeping his voice down, and apparently now, he isn’t either, based on the way Peggy’s face is rapidly reddening.

“Damn it, Buck -“

Bucky yelps, twisting out of the way of the paperweight Peggy throws at him and ducking out into the hallway. He can hear banging and the shuffle of falling files as Peggy gives chase from behind her desk, and he doesn’t wait to see her follow; he runs, pushing past an amused-looking Sam, and unaffected Natasha, and a baby-faced agent who just started today.

He looks alarmed when Bucky sprints by him, and Bucky remembers he hasn’t introduced himself yet. “Hello!” he yells behind him as he runs. “My name’s Bucky. Welcome to the precinct!”

There’s a clash from down the hall and Peggy emerges from her office, seething, gun in hand.

“Make sure you don’t fuck the Captain’s godson!” Bucky yells, and then he’s gone, sprinting out through the waiting room and into the parking lot, where he leaps into his patrol car and manages to peel out of the parking lot just as Peggy emerges from the building, now holding not one but two pistols.

 _Life,_ Bucky thinks, as his speedometer inches up to a 60 in a 25. How is this fair? Steve’s the one who fucked the godson and now Bucky’s getting in trouble. He sighs. He should have known this would work out in the punk’s favor - everything always does.

In his rearview mirror, Bucky catches sight of blue and red flashing lights, rapidly approaching. There, in the patrol car behind Steve, is Peggy. Bucky’s pretty sure she’s gotten up to three or four guns, now, even though he’s not quite sure how she’s holding them and managing not to crash.

He pumps the gas.


	160. Mr. & Mr. Smith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Steve,” Tony says, face drawn, voice tight. “Steve, I’m sorry.”
> 
> Around them, ash drifts down from the sky like a light, soft snow. Stark Tower has been incinerated - the entire building, burned down to it’s very bones. They’re lucky that all its occupants managed to get out in time. All, that is, except Tony.
> 
> But Tony’s fine. A building just landed on him, but he’s fine, because when the mortars came crashing down he was wearing a gold-titanium alloy suit. Because he’s Iron Man. He’s Steve’s husband, and a superhero, and Steve didn’t know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> commisson for @yuniesan as part of @findingstony's celebration. hope you enjoy!
> 
> angst w/ happy ending, hurt/comfort, misunderstandings, cheating allegations (that are false), secret identity, identity porn, mr. & mrs. smith au

“Steve,” Tony says, face drawn, voice tight. “Steve, I’m sorry.”

Around them, ash drifts down from the sky like a light, soft snow. Stark Tower has been incinerated - the entire building, burned down to it’s very bones. They’re lucky that all its occupants managed to get out in time. All, that is, except Tony.

But Tony’s fine. He’s got a scratch on his face that’s still oozing blood down his temple, and he’ll probably be very bruised in the morning, but he’s fine. A building just landed on him, but he’s fine, because when the mortars came crashing down he was wearing a gold-titanium alloy suit. Because he’s Iron Man. He’s Steve’s husband, and a superhero, and Steve didn’t know.

Steve shakes his head. He knows it’s unfair of him to be acting like this, but he can’t seem to get himself under control of rationality. “I have to go,” he says. His voice is thick from the soot, but he knows Tony understands him, because his expression cracks as Steve watches. Steve can’t look him in the eye. “I can’t -“

“Steve,” Tony says, voice watery, now. “Please, don’t go. Please, we can talk about this, or, or -“

“I can’t,” Steve says, and takes a step back. “I can’t, Tony, I’m sorry, I need -“ He shakes his head again. “I can’t,” he says again, and turns to go.

“Sweetheart,” Tony says. He grabs Steve’s arm, but his grip is light, and Steve easily twists out of it. He doesn’t turn around; he goes.

His Ma would say he’s running. She’s probably right. Steve never wanted to be the type of person that runs from his problems. But right now, his body seems to have decided it’s his only option. He slips into the crowd - frantic parents, shaken victims, policeman carefully herding bystanders towards medical tents - and loses himself where Tony can’t find him.

-

It starts all the way back in 2012, when Iron Man first comes out onto the superhero scene. Or, rather, when Iron Man  _creates_ the superhero scene. He’s the first: the world’s first savior, world’s first role model, world’s first hero, and, later, Steve will be resentful of that. Not because he wants to be the first - God, no, Steve can be petty but not about something like that, never about something like that. It’s more that Tony, being the first, can’t argue for safety from precedent. Tony can’t say that he knew what he was doing or what he was getting into because he didn’t; he can’t say he knew the risks but thought it was worth it because he didn’t. Nobody did. Nobody had ever done this before; aside from a few comic book predictions and his own imagination, Tony had nothing to go on. It makes his decision to dive headfirst into superherodom all the more courageous and, at the same time, all the more reckless.

Steve, on the other hand, doesn’t become a hero until 2014. It was SHIELD’s idea, but Steve agreed to it; he won’t put off the blame there. In part, he did it because he felt it was necessary. Someone had to look out for the little guy, after all, and despite those heroes that had already emerged from the woodworks - Hulk, Thor, and Iron Man, who, even then, was Steve’s favorite - the little guy seemed to need all the help he could get.

That wasn’t his only reason, though. Honestly, he was feeling lonely. Tony had become busier and busier over the past few years, and Steve was feeling unfulfilled. It had been enough, before - working as an agent, doing art in his free time and, of course, his relationship with Tony - but it wasn’t now. Steve wanted to do  _more,_ wanted a challenge, whatever it may be. Project Rebirth was the perfect solution. Steve signed the nondisclosure agreement and had the procedure done, and Tony was none the wiser. Steve had felt so guilty about it at the time - that sort of all-consumed anxiety that grinds at you from the inside out, gnashing at his bones every time he had to lie, but he didn’t have a choice. Even if he hadn’t signed the NDA, he knew that his secret identity becoming public would put Tony in danger, and Steve couldn’t risk that. Not even by telling the person he was trying to protect.

It all seems so naive now.

-

“So Tony is Iron Man,” Sam says, for what must be the third time in as many minutes.

Steve nods jerkily. “He’s Iron Man. And he’s been lying to me for the past seven years.”

Sam sighs, and there’s a scrape of a chair against the tile as Sam sits. “I won’t deny that’s crappy. It is, really. But, let’s be real, here, Steve - you’ve been lying to him, too.”

“That’s different,” Steve says. It’s what he’s been telling himself for the past four hours: it was different, I was different, it was  _okay -_ and now repetition has dulled the words into meaninglessness. “I did that for my country.”

“And Tony didn’t?” And, okay, Steve thinks.  _Maybe._ Lord knows Tony wouldn’t have gotten into this just for the glitz and the glamor, not the Tony that Steve knows. But then maybe Steve doesn’t know Tony all that well after all. It’s a stinging thought, but it lingers. “I mean, I get it,” Sam continues. “You’re upset. Anyone would be. I’m sure Tony’s upset right now, too. But you can’t get on your moral high horse here. That’s what you do, when you disagree with people, and it never ends well. You need to be rational about this.”

Steve huffs. “Rational? How am I supposed to be rational? My husband is a superhero and he’s been lying to me about it. He’s been putting himself into the line of fire  _every single day_ for the past seven years and I didn’t even  _know!”_

“So you’re worried,” Sam says.

Steve shakes his head. “Of course I’m worried. I have a seven-year backlog of worry to get through. I’m probably never not going to be worried again.”

“But that can’t be new to you. I mean, I get where you’re coming from, but every single one of your best friends is in the military, most of them in even more dangerous operations than you. A husband is different, sure, but not  _that_ different. And, besides, you’re not just worried, you’re not just angry. But you’re sure something. Want to tell me what that is?”

Steve bites his lip. He doesn’t want to talk about this with Sam - he doesn’t want to talk about it with anyone, really. Not even Tony. Because that’s the thing: for the entire time that Tony’s been lying, Steve didn’t have a single suspicion about the truth. Not one thought, not one toss away instinct, that says,  _maybe._ Maybe Tony is Iron Man.Maybe the man I spend my nights with and the man who covers my back on the battlefield are the same. Maybe one of my best friends ever is my partner, too.

But Steve did have suspicions. Twisted thoughts, worries that made him feel sick to his stomach at night and made him do unfair things. Suspicions that, Tony’s unmasking revealed, are entirely false. If Steve and Tony’s relationship were good, then right now, Steve could go to Tony and apologize for those thoughts. Tony would his shim on the forehead and tell him it’s okay, he knew he married an idiot, and Steve was probably due for his next blunder. Steve could have squawked and argued and they would  have ended up on the couch with Thai food, watching shitty infomercials.

But their relationship isn’t good. Steve can’t go to Tony. But he doesn’t feel like he can go to his friends, either; it feels silly to even think about it, now, in hindsight, when he was so far from the truth. It feels paranoid, idiotic. It feels embarrassing. And, God, is Steve angry that Tony is what made him go here.

Rock, meet hard place.

“You can tell me,” Sam says, after a long moment where Steve doesn’t reply. “You don’t have to, of course you don’t. But if you think I’m going to mock or judge - you know me, man.”

That’s what does it for Steve. He takes a deep breath, then another. Then blurts. “For the past five months I’ve thought Tony was cheating on me.”

Sam’s eyebrows shoot up, and he opens his mouth to speak.

“With Iron Man,” Steve finishes.

-

Tony had ‘met’ Iron Man before Steve had.

At the time, Steve didn’t think it was too strange. Tony’s story was that he was working with SHIELD to upgrade and improve the armor, and so of course he would have met the superhero before then-just-an-agent Steve. Steve remembers the first night Tony came home and told Steve he was helping to build a superhero. He had been so excited, almost glowing, and Steve had kissed him and asked if he could be introduced to this pet project sometime. Tony had laughed and kissed Steve again, said, “Maybe. If I can pull some strings.” And Steve had asked, “Pretty please?” and Tony had said, “God, you’re so spoiled, get in bed,” and that was the end of that conversation.

As the months progressed, Tony spent more and more time in Iron Man’s company, all without Steve getting a chance the meet the man. Every time he asked, Tony dodged the questions, to the point where Steve was beginning to wonder if it was something personal. Tony clearly admired the guy - he spent so much time working on his suits, and with him, privately in the lab, with the windows blacked out to ensure the protection of Iron Man’s identity were a suit malfunction to occur during testing. It got to the point where Steve was starting to think Iron Man saw more of Tony than Steve did, and despite himself, he was getting jealous.

It finally comes to an end when SHIELD introduces Steve to Iron Man in 2013. Later, Steve would be told that it was part of the vetting process for potential Project Rebirth participants, seeing how well they got along with pre-existing members of the team. Iron Man, of course, hadn’t been told what they were doing; as SHIELD saw it, they didn’t know who Iron Man was, and so of course they couldn’t trust his discretion. He could be a gossip columnist, for all they knew. Someone like Tony Stark, Steve’s blabbermouth, socialite husband.

Ha.

“It’s an honor to meet you,” Steve had said, offering a hand for Iron Man to shake. Iron Man had hesitated just a moment before taking it; his metal hand was cold and slick, but his grip was firm.

“Likewise,” Iron Man said. “I hear you served in Afghanistan.”

“Briefly,” Steve says. He had been sent over in 2006 for a four-year tour that was abruptly cut off in 2008 when Steve’s then-boyfriend went missing on a business trip and was found, a few months later, half-starved and tortured in a desert cave. “Were you a soldier?”

“You trying to get me to spill State secrets, agent? Be careful, a pretty face like yours and I just might do it. All you get to know about me is my name: first, Iron, last, Man. That’s it.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “You’re a bit of a smartass, aren’t you?”

Iron Man cocks a hip and tilts his head, a pose reminiscent of the way Tony sometimes looks when they bicker. “Problem?”

“No,” Steve says. “I live with the world’s biggest asshole. I’m immune.”

Iron Man laughs, then, a tinny, garbled sound, and Steve finds himself smiling right back.

“I like this one,” Iron Man tells the SHIELD agent behind him. “I hope you pay him well.”

“He doesn’t need it,” the agent says. She’s flipping through a pack of papers on a clipboard, looking bored. “His husband’s a billionaire.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re a gold digger. And I was just getting to like you!”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “If I was a gold digger, I think I would just take that suit off you. Problem solved.”

It’s hard to tell what facial expression Iron Man is making under the mask, but Steve thinks the dead-on stare might be something like a raised eyebrow. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Maybe another time,” Steve says. “I’m late for lunch with my husband. It was good to meet you, Iron Man.”

“Likewise,” Iron Man says. Steve feels his gaze on his back the whole way down the hallway.

-

“I don’t see how any of that indicates Tony was fucking Iron Man,” Sam says, when Steve takes a pause to sip his water. “I mean, really, that sounds like Iron Man wants to fuck you. Which, okay, he’s your husband, he definitely does, but, you know, the point here -“

“The point is coming,” Steve interrupts. “Shut up and let me finish, okay?”

Sam sighs, but waves a hand as if to say,  _go on, then._ Steve swallows, and continues.

-

Steve didn’t see Iron Man again after that, aside from a few glances and friendly waves in the hallways, until after Project Rebirth. This time, he was in uniform, and wearing a vaguely ridiculous Batman-esque voice manipulator to maintain his secret identity.

“Is this really necessary?” Steve had asked skeptically when Coulson had handed it to him, along with a spangly, spandex suit.

“You say hello to everyone, every morning,” Coulson says. “Everyone in this building could recognize your voice. Put it on.”

The team welcomes Steve warmly. Iron Man gives him a handshake, Hulk waves at him without grunting or scowling, and Thor gives him a rib-crushing hug. The atmosphere in the room is relaxed, almost casual, and even when Fury announces that they’re eyeing Steve as the new leader for this ragtag team, nobody bats an eye. “I’m not leadership material,” Iron Man says, when Steve looks surprised.

“Aye, and I am ill-suited to lead a group of human forces,” Thor agrees. “And Hulk here cannot speak.”

“Can speak!”

“Cannot speak  _well,”_ Thor amends.

So it all goes well. Within the team, it’s obvious that Thor and Hulk have a special sort of bond, which means they pair up for almost every training exercise and seminar that the newly-named ‘Avengers’ are supposed to go to. That leaves Iron Man and Steve - not that Steve minds. Iron Man is witty and smart in a way that reminds Steve of Tony, but he’s also kind and brave. Also in a way that reminds Steve of Tony. In hindsight, Steve doesn’t know how he missed it. Other than the giant-metal-suit hiding his identity thing.

It goes well for a few months. As the team gets to know each other better, they start to open up more and more, and Steve starts sharing minor details about his life - nothing that could lead conclusively to Steve’s civilian identity, but enough to characterize him as a human being, not a mindless SHIELD robot.

One day, Steve mentions his husband. He doesn’t say it’s Tony, of course, but Thor asks if anyone has a significant other, and, really, what reason is there to lie?

“I have a husband,” Steve offers. “Married four years. Well, he says it’s longer, but he counts wrong.”

“How does one count wrong? Midgardians do have wedding ceremonies, do they not? Or is he afflicted with a mathematical incompetency?”

Steve coughs to cover up a laugh. Tony, mathematically incompetent. Sure. “No, he just disagrees on the date we got married. It’s a long story, really, not that interesting.”

“Sound interesting,” Hulk booms.

Steve smiles, shakes his head. “Nah, it’s just - silly. He’s a silly kind of guy. I swear, there’s never a dull moment with him.”

Beside Steve, Iron Man is silent. He’s still in the suit, too, staring straight ahead like he’s afraid to look at Steve. “Iron Man?” Steve asks, when the moment stretches a little too long. “Something wrong?”

“No,” Iron Man says. The voice comes out just as dull and lifeless as always. Often, Steve wonders why Iron Man’s mechanical voice must be just that - so  _mechanical -_ when Steve’s audio transmitter is programmed to include inflections in tone and emotion even while disguising his voice. Maybe Tony hasn’t gotten a chance to look at it yet. Steve would suggest it to him, but how can he, without giving away his secret side project? “It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” Thor asks. He looks concerned, now, too, brows furrowed, eyes wide and sincere. “We can help, if there is an issue. Are you lonely?”

“No,” Tony says. “I’m not lonely at all. Let’s just talk about something else, okay?”

Steve finds it weird, but he doesn’t think too much of it until it happens again. And again. Consistently, when Steve mentions his husband - or even just his friends, or generically refers to his ‘family’ - Iron Man goes still and quiet, almost unresponsive. Steve’s first idea is that Iron Man might be homophobic. He hates to think that - Iron Man is quickly becoming one of Steve’s best friends, after all, even if Steve has no idea what he looks like beneath the mask - but when he carefully breaches the topic with Iron Man, Iron Man seems genuinely horrified.

“What?” he asks. “No, that’s - whatever you think you’re hearing, that’s not it. I’m queer, too.”

“Oh,” Steve says, relaxing. “Oh, that’s great to hear - I mean, not that I was hoping you were queer, or something, because I’m married, but it’s nice that you’re not homophobic. That might put a bit of a damper on our friendship. Considering I’m gay. You know?”

It comes out much more awkward than Steve was hoping, but Iron Man just laughs, that grainy little chuckle. “Yeah, I get it,” he says. “Really, no worries.”

But the thing is, the problem doesn’t go away after that. Iron Man’s behavior persists, and Steve notices it applies to more than just Steve’s husband. Iron Man gets weird about Tony, too.

“I heard Mr. Stark updated your servos today,” Steve would say, in the middle of sparring, and Iron Man would clam up so much Steve can knock him right over.

“Did you have Mr. Stark look at your voice modulator?” Steve would ask, and Iron Man would stammer and still and make some excuse to leave the room.

“Did you see that new green energy solution Mr. Stark released last week? Isn’t it great?” and Iron Man would mumble something about HammerTech being great, too, and ask if Steve wants to go get coffee.

It’s weird, but Steve doesn’t want to confront him again, not after how poorly that went last time. So he puts it to the back of his mind and tells himself nothing is wrong. It works, for a while. And then, one day, in the middle of sparring, Iron Man says,

“Damn! Way to knock a man when he’s down, Stevie,” and Steve’s brain short-circuits.

“What,” he manages, voice flat and dull. Iron Man looks confused for a full second before he seems to realize what he’s said and stills. “Did they tell you my identity?”

Iron Man seems to be watching him warily. “No,” he says slowly.

“Then how do you know?” Steve demands. Iron Man hesitates. “Tell me!” It comes out sharp and commanding, and Steve forces himself to take a deep breath, unclench his fists. “Please,” he adds.

Iron Man sighs. “It’s not a big deal, really. I just recognized you from the first time we met.”

“How?” Steve asks again. “I was wearing a different uniform, and my voice is disguised. And I have the cowl now _.”_

“You have a distinctive body,” Iron Man says, and nothing else.

The implication seems to be that Iron Man was checking out Steve’s ass, and that’s not what Steve was expecting. He stumbles for a response. “I - have you told anyone?”

“Not a single soul,” Iron Man promises quickly. “I swear to you. I won’t tell anyone.”

Steve swallows. “Well, I - I need you to keep it that way. I don’t want to put anyone in my life in danger. Least of all my husband.”

And Iron Man does it again - goes a little still, a little quiet. “I promise,” he says, sincerity in every word.

Steve sighs. “Damn it. This day is not going great for me.”

“For you?” Iron Man jokes. “I’m the one on my ass, here.”

It’s not that funny, but Steve manages to muster a smile. “You’re right. What was I thinking? Need a hand up?”

“Please,” Iron Man says. He grabs the hand Steve offers him, and uses it too tug himself to his feet.

It doesn’t hit Steve until later that night, when he’s lying in his empty bed. Tony is gone - late night working in the lab, he’d said, don’t wait up - and without him, Steve is struggling to fall asleep. Steve’s staring at the shadows drifting on the ceiling, rethinking his conversation with Iron Man earlier that day, when he realizes. Iron Man’s avoidance of the topic of Tony. Iron Mna’s avoidance of the topic of Steve’s husband, specifically in reference to Steve’s family.  _I’m queer,_ Iron Man had said.

And, Tony. Tony, spending so much more time in the lab, lately. The hours he spends with Iron Man. The hours he spends working on gear, asking Steve not to interrupt him. The way he’s been coming home freshly showered. The extra bruises Steve keeps finding all over, bruises Tony never can seem to come with an explanation for.

Steve sits bolt upright in bed.  _Oh, god,_ he thinks.  _What if Iron Man’s having an affair with Tony?_

-

Now, Sam sighs. “All right, you know I love you, Steve. But that was kind of a leap.”

“I know, okay?” Steve snaps defensively. He had known it was silly to share this. “It’s just - look, you said you wouldn’t judge me -“

“You’re right,” Sam says placatingly. “You’re right, sorry. Okay. So what happened after that?”

Now it’s Steve’s turn to sigh. “I didn’t talk to him about it like a mature adult, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Sam snorts. “Please, I know better than to expect that from your emotionally-constipated-ass. What  _did_ you do?”

Steve picks at the wood grain of Sam’s tabletop. “Stewed over it for a while, mainly. I - I know it’s bad, but I started looking for signs. Asking Jarvis what Tony was doing when he was out, keeping track of how long he was in the lab, stuff like that.”

“Steve.”

“I know! I know it was bad, okay, but I just - I  _knew_ something was wrong. It just didn’t feel right. And with Iron Man, and everything -“ He shakes his head.

“Well, small consolation,” Sam offers, “You were right there was something going on.”

“Not what I thought, though,” Steve says. “And then - well. Uh. We got into a fight, a few days ago.”

“Oh, lord.” Sam raises an eyebrow. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

-

It’s a stupid argument. It’s always a stupid argument, when they fight. After being married for so long, you’d think they’d get over their differences, but there’s the same three or four points they always come back to, like vultures circling a kill.

Tonight, it’s recklessness. It’s an argument that can go both ways, but tonight, Tony is the one to bring it up, over a scrape Steve got in at work.

“Relax,” Steve says, when Tony frowns and tuts over his wounds. “It’s fine. Just a scrape.”

Tony gives him a look. “It’s a bullet wound, Steve.”

“A bullet  _scrape,”_ Steve says tiredly. Normally, he would have more patience for Tony’s fretting - once, he even found it sweet - but he’s been in a perpetual bad mood ever since he started wondering about Iron Man and Tony a few weeks ago, and he’s snippy, especially when it comes to Tony.

“Still,” Tony sighs. He tapes down the edges of Steve’s fresh bandages with gentle fingers. Steve just wants him to hurry the hell up. “You should be more careful. A few inches to the right and this could have really hurt you.”

“I said it’s fine,” Steve says, pulling his arm out of Tony’s grip. It’s not hard enough to hurt Tony, but it’s forceful, and based on the way Tony blinks, he gets the message.

“I’m not trying to nag,” Tony says, even though that’s exactly what he’s doing. “But it’s important to be careful. You’re a hero out there, you always were, but there’s a thin line between brave and reckless, and I just don’t want -“

Steve snorts. It’s loud enough that Tony stops talking, and blinks at Steve again. The confused expression on his face is quickly turning to frustration and, under that, anger.

“What the fuck, Steve?” Tony demands.

“Recklessness? You really want to talk to me about recklessness right now, Stark?” Tony flinches at the name, but smoothes his expression out quick enough. The show of vulnerability isn’t enough to soften Steve’s anger. “Fine, let’s talk about reckless. You know what’s  _reckless?_ Fucking someone who’s not your husband?”

Tony fully jolts at that. “What the hell are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything,” Steve says. “I’m  _saying_ that I know you’re fucking Iron Man!”

Tony’s mouth drops open. “Oh my god,” he manages finally.

“You going to try to deny it? I’ve talked to Iron Man about it, and I know -“

Tony shakes his head, stepping back from Steve. He looks - he looks like he’s seen a ghost, Steve thinks. Maybe he didn’t expect to be called out on it. “If only you knew how fucking  _ridiculous_ this was.”

“So you’re denying it, then?”

“Of course I’m fucking  _denying it,_ Steve, are you serious? Do you actually believe that? Please tell me you don’t actually think -“

“Why wouldn’t I?” Steve yells. “You’re with him all the fucking time. And you keep coming home with these bruises, and half the time when I go looking for you Jarvis won’t tell me where you are, not to mention how  _weird_ he is about you -“

“Stop,” Tony says. His mouth is twisted, face grey. “God, I can’t listen to this any more. I can’t believe you.”

“I think that’s my line,” Steve says.

Tony shakes his head. “How could you - how could you think -“

“What it is, then?” Steve interrupts. “If it’s not an affair. What have you been doing all this time?”

“How is that any of your business?”

“I’m your  _husband!”_

“Yeah, my husband, not my mother!”

“If you had nothing to hide, you’d tell me.”

“Sounding a lot like those politicians you hate right now.”

“A marriage is not a government, and don’t think I haven’t noticed you’re still refusing to answer.”

Tony - is silent. He still looks vaguely sick, but he’s biting his lip, now, too. Steve waits, a beat, another, but Tony doesn’t say anything. No explanation, half-assed or otherwise, no - nothing. Just silence, staring at Steve with that horrible expression in his eyes.

Steve’s heart feels knotted in his chest. “I can’t even look at you right now. I’ll be the guest suite. Let me know if you decide to be a reasonable human being. Or - or -“ He shakes his head, turning towards the elevator before he can finish that sentence.

Tony, though, won’t take the half-complete conversation. “Or what?” he calls at Steve’s back. “Huh? What are you going to do, Steve?”

Steve swallows around the ashes in his throat. “Or maybe we should consider a divorce,” he says roughly. The doors close before he can hear Tony’s answer. He doesn’t look for his reaction.

-

“Jesus Christ.”

“I  _know,”_ Steve whines. “I know, Sam, okay, but I was just so  _angry._ And, yeah, I get it, it was wrong of me to say, but he  _was_ lying to me! And now I don’t know, should I be glad that he wasn’t cheating? Should I feel bad that I thought he was? But then I get so angry that he  _was_ lying that I can’t even consider feeling guilty. I’m just pissed.”

Sam sighs. “It’s a fucked up situation. I mean, let’s be real, you made it a  _lot_ more fucked up than it needed to be -“

“Sam -“ Steve starts.

Sam ploughs on, “But either way, your feelings are valid. You can be conflicted about this. But you have to know Tony has a right to be conflicted about it, too.”

Steve picks at his nails. “I know he does,” he admits. “I know I said some shitty things, but - but -“ He shakes his head. “I don’t know. I don’t even know how to  _begin_ to deal with this. I just want it to be over and done with. I just want to stop - worrying about things like this, I want to trust Tony again. I don’t want to get stuck here.”

“Needing more than three hours to process major information isn’t ‘stuck’,” Sam points out. “But, fine, you want to be with Tony? You want everything to be okay? Go home tonight. Or - a hotel, wherever he’s staying. Sorry. But, anyway, go back to him, tell him you don’t want to talk about it, you want the night. You need time to think, but you don’t want to leave. It’d be nice of you to apologize, but. Whatever. If I know a thing about Tony Stark, he will bend over backwards to make sure you get just what you want.”

Steve sighs, thinking of the months he spent sure Tony was cheating, checking up on his daily habits like some over possessive prick. “Do I deserve that, though?”

Sam’s hand lands on his shoulder, warm and solid. “Yes,” Sam says firmly. “Yes, you do.”

-

Steve finds himself standing in front of the door to the Grand Hyatt Manhattan Penthouse Suite less than an hour later.

He’d gotten the address from Jarvis. He’s continually impressed by how snarky the AI is, even over text, when he’s cross with someone. Steve ignores his snide comments and goes anyway; it’s Tony’s opinion that matters, and Tony is here.

Before he can lose the nerve, Steve raises a hand and knocks on the door.

Silence. There’s no response, not even the shuffling of shoes to indicate there’s someone in the apartment. For a split second, Steve wonders if Tony’s not here - gone to Rhodey’s maybe, or, God, a bar - but he brushes the thought away. Jarvis said he was here.

“Tony?” he calls, knocking again. “It’s me. Can you let me in?”

This time there’s a response; a soft thumping sound, someone going  _ow,_ and then a click as the door is pulled open. Tony is standing in the doorway. He looks exactly like he did a few hours ago, except now he’s much cleaner, and his bruises are much darker. He’s blinking at Steve like he’s not sure what he’s seeing, and he’s got a glass of seltzer and lime in hand. He wants a drink, then.

Steve’s chest aches.

“Can I come in?” he asks. Wordlessly, Tony steps back to allow him in the penthouse. Steve glances around; the room is nice, but barren. There’s no suitcases here, no personal effects. Of course there aren’t. Stark Tower, Tony’s baby, the home Steve and Tony have lived in for most of their married life, is gone. Steve feels a pang of loss for that, but pushes it away; there will be time later.

“I wanted to say sorry,” Steve says. It’s easier to say when he’s not looking at Tony, but still he forces himself to turn around, meet Tony’s gaze. “I’ve been an ass these past few months. You didn’t deserve that.”

Tony blinks. “I lied to you.”

“Why?” It’s not what Steve means to ask, but it comes out before he can stop himself. “Why did you lie? You don’t have an NDA with SHIELD. You could have told me.”

Tony shakes his head, looks down at his feet. “I didn’t think you’d like it,” he says. “Me being Iron Man. I was worried - I was worried you really wouldn’t.”

“So you kept it a secret.” It doesn’t surprise Steve, not really - Tony’s always been insecure like that, and emotionally challenged, just like Steve.

“Look, I’m sorry I lied, I know it was wrong. I know it hurt you.”

A familiar flame of anger surges in Steve’s chest at the reminder, but he ignores it. “I lied to you, too.”

“Not really. I knew the truth. You didn’t.”

“That doesn’t change anything,” Steve says. “How did you know it was me, though? If I can ask.”

Tony sighs, turning away as he raises his glass to his lips. “I don’t lie to you all the time, you know. I told you the truth then. I mean, god, you know how many times I’ve eaten you out? I’d know that ass anywhere.”

Which - okay, fair. If Tony wasn’t completely encased in a metal suit, Steve thinks he’d probably recognize his body, too. He’s kind of surprised he never recognizes his mannerisms, but then again, he didn’t want to believe it. Willfull blindness, and all that.

“Anyway,” Steve says, “That’s not the point. I didn’t want to - I didn’t come here to accuse you, or anything.”

“Yeah?” Tony asks, raising an eyebrow at Steve. “What did you come here for, then? If I may ask?”

“I want to fix this,” Steve says. He gestures between himself and Tony. “This - whatever it is, I don’t like it. And I know I fucked up. I know that. And I’m still - I’m still really fucking pissed, I’m not going to lie. But I’m tired of doubting you, and fighting with you. I just want to find a way to - to fix this.”

Tony just looks at him. “You’ve changed your tune,” he says.

Steve sighs. So Tony does want to fight. “Tony -“

“No,” Tony interrupts. “I’m serious, Steve. Three days ago you were considering a divorce. So I have to ask. What do you mean by  _fix_ this? Fix our marriage? Or fix this situation? Because they’re very different situations, Steve, and I’d like to know what I’m getting into -“

“Fix our marriage,” Steve says. “I love you, Tony. I only said that the other day because I was pissed. And, honestly, I was scared.” Something occurs to him, then, and he feels the first real rush of fear he’s felt since he saw the Tower, crumbling as it burned. “Do you - what do  _you_ want?”

“You,” Tony says immediately. “I mean, I’m not thrilled with the situation either, but - yeah. I love you. Of course I don’t want to break up.”

Steve relaxes with relief. “That’s good,” he says. “That’s - really good.”

There’s a beat of silence. It’s strange - no matter how bad their arguments have gotten, Steve’s never been awkward around Tony before, not like this. Not even when they first met, and that was back when Steve was a notoriously horrible flirter. But now - now Steve feels like he’s lost his place with Tony, and he doesn’t know where to step to avoid the landmines, both Tony’s and his own.

Finally, Tony clears his throat. “This - sorry if this is weird, but - can I hug you?”

And, despite himself, Steve’s heart softens. “Of course,” he says, already stepping forward, arms open. “Come here.”

Tony sinks into his arms easily, slotting in against his chest just as well as he always has. Steve tucks his chin over Tony’s head, splays his arms across Tony’s back. He’s warm and clean and smells like lavender soap. Hotel shampoo, Steve thinks.

“I was so worried,” Tony murmurs against Steve’s chest, voice muffled. “When you said you wanted to break up -“

Steve tightens his grip around Tony. “I shouldn’t have said that,” he admits. “I shouldn’t have said a lot of things.”

“And I should have said a lot of things,” Tony says. He snorts. “God, what a pair, huh?”

Steve smiles a little, tucking down to press a kiss onto Tony’s head. “Pretty sure I’ve heard that said about us before. A few times.”

“Which set of us?”

It takes Steve a second to get what Tony means, but when he does, he snorts. “Both sets of us,” he says. “I should have known it was you. Nobody’s got a smart mouth like Tony Stark.”

“And silly,” Tony says against Steve’s chest. “Right? Never a dull moment.”

Steve recalls saying as much to Iron Man, the way he’d gone still. The same way, Steve realizes now, that Tony often goes still when you praise him. He never learned how to take a genuine compliment.

The reminder should upset him, but instead, Steve smiles. “Never a dull moment,” Steve agrees. “One of my favorite things about you.”

“Yeah?” Tony asks. His voice is uncharacteristically hesitant, so Steve tips Tony’s chin up with one hand so he’ll meet Steve’s eyes.

“Yeah,” Steve says softly, and kisses him. It’s soft and warm and familiar. Tomorrow, Steve knows there will be fighting - tomorrow, there will be accusations and yelling and probably crying, there will be demands and insecurities and neighbors complaining about volume levels. Tomorrow, it will be rough. But tonight - tonight Steve has Tony. Right now, that’s all he needs.

“Come on,” Steve says. “Let’s go to bed.”


	161. Happy Birthday, Dumbass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony blinks. He blinks again. He scrubs at his eyes. He stretches his eyelids as far open as he can get them. He squints.
> 
> "Who gave Dummy the dunce cap?"
> 
> -
> 
> Hint: it's not a dunce cap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, pre-relationship
> 
> the crack pie at the end is a reference to milk bar

Tony blinks. He blinks again. He scrubs at his eyes. He stretches his eyelids as far open as he can get them. He squints.

None of it makes the scene in front of him resolve into anything remotely sensible. There’s - Steve. And Rhodey. Who Tony’s not sure Steve has interacted with, outside of Avengers activities. And there’s Dummy, who Tony  _knows_ Steve has never interacted with, ever, weaving between them and beeping like a fool. There’s a cone on his head.

 _That,_ at least, makes sense, because lord knows Dummy deserves a dunce cap at least 23 hours a day, six days a week. Then again, Tony doesn’t  _remember_ giving Dummy the hat, which makes it a bit weirder. He frowns.

“Who gave Dummy the dunce cap?” he asks.

Steve tilts his head, confused. Rhodey just rolls his eyes. “It’s not a dunce cap, idiot,” he says. “It’s a birthday hat.”

Tony’s frown deepens. “But Dummy’s birthday isn’t until October.”

“Dummy’s birthday?” Steve asks.

Rhodey just huffs. “It’s not Dummy’s birthday, it’s yours.”

Tony’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “ _Mine?”_ he asks. “No, it can’t be mine, it’s only April.”

Rhodey shakes his head. “It’s a miracle you get anything done around here. It’s May 29th, you absolute buffoon.”

“Oi,” Tony says automatically, in defense. Then he’s quiet a moment, as he considers. “So this is a birthday party,” he says finally.

Steve’s frowning, now, too. “Of course this is a birthday party,” he says. “Did you really think we weren’t going to celebrate?”

He sounds offended at the very idea, and Tony wants to say no -  _no, of course not, Cap, I was just joking with you, just joshing around, as you old guys say -_ but he thinks, at this point, it’s pretty obvious that would be a lie.

“Where’s the cake?” Tony asks, as the silence stretches, a few moments too long and subsequently awkward.

It’s meant to be a joke, lighten the tension, but then Rhodey steps to the left and reveals an actual cake sitting on Tony’s workbench. It’s frosted unevenly in a garish yellow color, so there are spots revealing the red base of the cake beneath. Red velvet - Tony’s favorite. He steps closer. There’s writing on top of the cake, also a deep red, that blobs and jags unevenly.  _Happy Birthday_ Tony _Dumbass!_ It’s homemade, Tony realizes. He’s never had a homemade cake before.

“Tony?” Rhodey prompts, after a long moment passes and Tony doesn’t speak. “You okay?”

“Who made the cake?” Tony asks. Steve and Rhodey glance at each other, and Tony worries, for a moment, that it will end up being a bakery cake - done by an apprentice, maybe, or last minute because everyone forgot his birthday - but then Steve says, “I did.”

Tony turns to him. “You? I didn’t know you could bake.”

Steve blushes, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck in that endearing way he does that makes him look like a child despite his hulking figure. “I can’t, really. But, uh, I tried? I promise there’s no eggshells in it.”

“You made a cake for me,” Tony says, turning back to the dessert. Something about this doesn’t seem to be processing in his genius brain.

“Well, yeah, of - of course I did.” Steve still sounds confused. Like it’s not weird that he organized this little shindig for Tony’s birthday. Like that’s a thing that happens every year. Like this isn’t the first time Tony remembers celebrating since before he became Iron Man.

“Uh.” Tony coughs, hopes it covers up the weird thickness he can feel building in his throat. “Thanks. I guess. Should I -“

He gestures towards the cake knife, but Steve hurries in front of him, blocking his hand. “No, you have to blow out candles first.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Please, Rogers, don’t tell me you believe in wishes -“

Steve pouts. “It’s tradition.”

“Oh, jeez. Fine, then, Rogers, light the damn cake.”

It turns out Rhodey, the asshole, had insisted they bring the appropriate number of candles - a full forty-fucking-two, God hate him. It takes ages to light them, but finally, it’s all done, and just as Tony’s leaning in to blow them out -

Dummy hits them all with the fire extinguisher.

Tony sighs, brushing the foam away from his eyes. “Well, that’s great. Thanks, Dummy.”

“It’s probably for the best,” Steve admits. “I’m not actually all that confident about whether or not there were eggshells in that.”

“Come on,” Rhodey says. “Let’s go get Crack Pie.”


	162. The Green-Eyed Hammer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: someone please write me a fic where justin hammer, who is still in prison, finds out that captain america is dating iron man and is so angry he gets a phone smuggled into his cell for the sole reason to comment mean things on steve’s instagram pictures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by this post: https://doctorstark.tumblr.com/post/185283502150/someone-please-write-me-a-fic-where-justin-hammer
> 
> jealousy, outsider POV, get-together-ish

The first time someone tells him, Justin thinks they’re joking.

How could they not be, after all? Tony Stark, dating  _Captain America?_ Justin understands Tony, he does, and to some degree he even respects him - not just anyone can manipulate the facets of the world enough to get Justin Hammer into jail, after all - but he’s also not blind to his faults. It’s  _Tony Stark._ He’s an asshole, selfish, a notorious playboy - everything, basically, that Captain America is not. Justin would be surprised if the two haven’t gotten into a fistfight by now - one, he’s sure, that Tony started. Of course they’re not  _dating._

So he just laughs, pats the guard on the shoulder who told him - his informant, the same guard who smuggles him his much-desired shrimp-flavored ramen - and says, “Thanks for the joke, man, but your source is confused.” The guard frowns and opens his mouth to argue, but Justin just waves him off and returns to his bunk to partake in his ramen. Someone as important as him doesn’t have time to catch up lowly prison guards on celebrity gossip.

But then Justin hears the rumor again. And again. And again. Each time, the source seems a little more sure - first his prison cellmate, saying he heard a rumor in the showers; next one of the lunch-time servers, asking if he knew Stark was a fag; and finally, the ringleader of the Reds, the prison’s toughest gang, shoving Justin up against a wall in the rec yard, sneering and asking if Justin’s jealous that his little boytoy didn’t wait for him.

Which, okay.  _Of course_ Justin’s not jealous. It’s  _Captain America._ Yeah, he’s got a great ass, and a shoulder-to-waist ratio that Justin thinks deserves to be immortalized in the halls of history, but he’s not someone Justin would ever want to be. He’s not even smart. He’s a mindless buffoon, marching to the beat of the U.S. government’s fife and probably not even sparing a few seconds each night to consider what the truth of the world is. Obviously, or he would have realized Stark’s useless by now and come to find him.

Still, the rumors are so prevalent and persistent that Justin has to find out for himself. He tries staking himself out in the prison rec room for a day with E! on the TV, hoping that some mention of the rumors will come up, but Harold, one of the Reds, comes in halfway through lunchtime and plucks the remote right out of Justin’s hand without so much as a thank you. Justin considers arguing, but it’s really not worth it: just like Steve Rogers, all these men are mindless gorillas who want nothing more than violence. Rationality, reason - it doesn’t go anywhere with them.

So instead, the next time Justin’s contact comes by with his weekly ramen deliveries, Justin pulls him aside and puts in an order for a cell phone. It’s a big ask - they’re hard to smuggle in, and the consequences are dire if you’re caught with one - but the guard just nods. Justin pays him well, after all, far more than his weakling prison salary. If he gets fired, he can always find a new job at Hammer Tech.

When the phone finally arrives, the first thing Hammer does is Google  _Tony Stark Captain America couple?_ He’s rewarded with hundreds of thousands of results, including a vide of a press conference featuring Cap and Iron Man at the helm. Justin clicks play.

“We understand you’re all confused about what’s been going on within the team, given recent revelations. I’ll make this brief. The rumors are true. Steve and I are dating.”

The crowd explodes with questions, and Justin clicks away. He quickly finds the ‘revelations’ Tony was referencing: a few photos, clearly taken by a paparazzi, of Tony and Rogers in an alleyway. They’re both in uniform, helmet and cowl torn off respectively, and they’re kissing. It’s a pretty good shot, other than the fact that the Captain America suit really does nothing for Rogers’ ass.  _Just another thing I could be improving,_ Justin thinks darkly.

After that, he moves on to Instagram. It’s been a few weeks since Tony and Rogers have come out, and, sure enough, when Justin checks their pages, they both have a few coupley posts up on their profiles. Justin checks Tony’s first.

The first is of Rogers and Tony, arms around each other, smiling at a gala.  _Yes, the rumors are true. I’ve nailed Captain America. I am officially the luckiest person alive._ Justin makes a face and clicks away.

Next is a more artistic shot, done in black and white of the back of Rogers’ head. He’s clearly watching something on TV; Star Wars, Justin realizes when he squints.  _Nobody tell him,_ Tony had written.

Last is a group shot of the Avengers. It wouldn’t be coupley at all, except Rogers and Tony are standing very close together, well within the kiss or kill difference, and they don’t exactly look ready for murder. The photo is captioned with a string of emojis Justin can’t make heads or tails of. He huffs and clicks away again, this time to Rogers’ profile.

He’s only posted one photo of the announcement. It’s of Tony; wearing pajamas, sprawled out on a bed, smirking at the camera. In the bottom corner of the frame is a square of white, like someone had caught the edge of a notebook in the photo. Rogers had written,  _He’s pretty infuriating. Pretty great too, though._ And a string of hearts.

Ugh. There’s nothing Justin hates more than people who throw their relationships in other people’s faces. That’s what explains this strange, twisting, bitter feeling in his chest. Without thinking too much about it, Justin logs into his Instagram account and clicks on the comment button.

**justinyesthatjustin:** _i know what you mean by infuriating. he’s a real handful in bed, right, cap? luckily you won’t have to handle him too long_

Then he tosses the phone towards the corner of his bed and pulls out an illicit package of ramen. He deserves it, right now.

-

After that, Justin starts posting comments on Rogers’ posts whenever he makes them, even if they’re not about Tony.  _Do you really think you’re enough for him?_ when Rogers waxes poetic about Tony’s best qualities; and t _hat sounds a little boring_ when Rogers mentions their last date was - get this - to an  _art museum;_ and  _maybe work a little harder, there_ when Rogers takes a picture of a sketch he’d done of Tony. Once, he even posts a photo of a dog with nothing in the caption but a dog emoji, and Justin writes  _please don’t use emojis, cap. i know you’re behind the times but, wow, way to be 2011._

He doesn’t know if that’s true, of course, having been in prison since 2011 and therefore not really knowing what  _is_ in style anymore, but he’s a genius. He thinks he can predict technological trends.

Of course, given that Justin is using his official account, it doesn’t take long for the prison authorities to realize he’s gotten his hands on contraband. Luckily, Justin’s got connections high-up in the government, and they get him off easily, scot-free. 

He persists in his postings, even after that, and the prison authority doesn’t pressure him any further. Other people do though: namely the Avengers, those annoying little dicks, who develop the frustrating habit of responding to Justin’s comments. One in particular seems to bring a wave a backlash: a comment on a picture of Rogers and Tony, clearly taken by some third person, walking side by side in the park.  _Nice try,_ Justin had written,  _but we all know you can’t satisfy him in bed. Little lacking downstairs, if you know what I mean. Tell Tony he can find me if he starts missing the good old days._ The replies come in within the hour, as if their posters had been waiting for Justin’s comment.

 _oh, put a sock in it, you dumb dickless scum bag,_  one reads, posted by the verified user  **thewintersoldieriscoming.**

Another from  **natasharomanoff** says, R _emember when I grabbed you by the balls and pulled you to the ground? Sometimes I dream about doing it again._

And the last, from  **samthefalconwilson:** _as someone who has seen steve naked more times than he would like, let me assure you: steve’s not lacking in any department. that super soldier serum really enhanced everything, if you know what i mean_

The last comment is picked up by gossip news sites like Buzzfeed and JustJared and dominates headlines for a while, but that’s not what concerns Justin. Justin’s more focused on the surging fury that swells in his chest when he reads the comments - these  _stupid_ comments, from these  _stupid_ people, who just follow their oh-so-perfect leaders blindly, as if they’re flawless, as if they’ve never done something horrible and unfair like locking up a  _perfectly innocent man_ in a supermax prison -

Ugh. Idiots. Justin types out vicious replies to each and every one of them, but they don’t bother to respond, other than a single  _lol_ from Barnes. It just makes Justin angrier. He increases the frequency and strength of his attacks, and starts commenting on Rogers’ tweets as well, sharing with the world what he thinks about Rogers’ ridiculous ideas.

It all comes to a head one day when Justin is told he has a visitor. The guard refuses to tell him who, which is annoying - Justin hasn’t had time to break this one in, since his old corrupted friend was fired - and so he’s taken entirely aback when he steps into the room and finds Tony Stark staring back at him.

He looks good. He’s wearing a suit - a  _nice_ suit, Justin thinks, really hugging his body in the right places - over a soft-looking t-shirt. He’s got a chain around his neck, too, though whatever it carries is tucked away, out of sight. His expression is calm and steady, though it flickers, just a moment, when he sees Justin.

“Hey, man,” Justin drawls. “Long time no visit! Planning to forget about me in here?”

“It was my hope,” Tony says flatly, not bothering to rise before Justin takes his seat. It’s a little rude, but Justin supposes that’s what he should have expected given he’s been hanging out with those heathens.

“What gives with the visit, man? You need a favor?”

“No,” Tony says, “I need you to  _fuck off.”_

Justin blinks at the venom in his voice, but recovers quickly. “Aw, honey, don’t be like that. Whatever this is, I’m sure we can get over it.”

“No, I don’t think we can. Not unless Amora the Enchantress hits you in the head overnight and you suddenly decide to become a decent person, because this, right now? It’s not it.”

Justin holds up his hands defensively. “Hey, man! No need to be like that. What did I do to you?”

“Well, a lot of things, but right now I’m more worried about what you’ve done to  _Steve.”_

Justin raises an eyebrow. “Steve? Steve Rogers? Did Captain America ask you to come here and fight your battles for him?”

“No,” Tony says, “Because this is not a battle. This is an informative discussion, wherein I inform you about what the rest of your social media life is going to look like, and you discuss with me how much you appreciate my leniency.”

That doesn’t sit well with Justin. “Look, Stark -”

Tony ploughs on like Justin hadn’t spoken. “From now on, there will be no commenting on Steve’s Instagram. There will be no commenting on his Twitter. There will be no commenting on  _my_ Twitter. There will, in fact, be no commenting or any form on interaction on any social media even remotely related to us. No more nasty insults. I don’t care what angle you’re working - no more.”

Justin gives his best put-upon sigh. “Look, Tony,” he says. “I get it. You’re protective. I understand. But you can’t just  _police_ the internet. It wasn’t one of your inventions, and neither was free speech. But I have both of them, and I intend to use them.”

Tony’s eyes flash in a way Justin’s never seen before - calm yet furious, and seething sort of anger, and Justin thinks  _oh, dear_ \- before he says, “Harassment isn’t covered by free speech, and even if it was,  _I don’t give a shit._ You’re hurting Steve, and that’s unacceptable. Ignore me if you want. But you’ll regret it if you do.”

Tony rises to his feet, as if to leave, but Justin can’t help himself. “Yeah?” he taunts. “What are you going to do?”

Tony unhooks his sunglasses from his shirt and puts them on. It makes him seem powerful, threatening, to not be able to see his eyes, but Justin is determined to remain uncowed. “You were caught with contraband in your room several times,” Tony says. “And though the internet may not be of my invention, these security cameras are. I’ve got friends in high places, Hammer, might higher than your little D.A. What do you think I can do with that footage? Indefinite solitary confinement sound good?”

He smirks and sweeps away before Justin can pick his jaw up off the floor. It’s only after he’s left the room entirely that Justin realizes he’s left a note sitting on the table: a little folded Sticky. He picks it up, unfolds it.

_Checkmate, asshole :)_

And, okay. Maybe he’s right.

**Author's Note:**

> Send me prompts at nasafic.tumblr.com.


End file.
